Purgatio
by Marcus1
Summary: Email sponger42yahoo.com for Location of Most Recently Updated Purgatio Website
1. Exorsus

Author's Note(s)

  1. The following story is meant to be read AFTER playing Final Fantasy 8. If you haven't played the game, you're going to have a hard time understanding what's going on. Note: All names are from the PC version of FFVIII.

  1. Please e-mail your comments to me at [sponger42@yahoo.com][1] .I wrote this bit of fiction with the intention of collecting reader input on my writing style. If you have anything to say at all, mail me. Again, my e-mail is [sponger42@yahoo.com][1]

  1. Feel free to distribute this composition to whomever you wish, but please include my e-mail address ([sponger42@yahoo.com][1]) so they can tell me what they think as well. Also, please don't do stupid shit like copying my work and putting your name on it. It's not that good, trust me.

  1. Caught a mistake? E-mail me at [sponger42@yahoo.com][1] and I'll correct the problem ASAP.

  1. This was written on MSWord and was distributed to various fan sites via MSWord-tagged .htm files. I don't really understand all the voodoo involved here, but the bottom line is: the paragraph formatting on some sites will be a bit messed up. Sorry, but I can't write in block format.

  1. [Purgatio][2] now has a website. If the link at the beginning of this number doesn't work, try pasting[http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/main1.htm][2]into your browser. I maintain this site, and it will have the latest updates to Purgatio.

If you want to sign up for my update mailing list, drop an e-mail to the addresses above.

** **

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**Chapter 1:**

**Exorsus**

** **

"What is it?" 

"Huh?"

"What is it?" Rinoa asked again, tilting her head to the side.

"Oh… sorry, I… it's nothing." Squall shook his head. _Damn, tonight of all nights, why can't I just stop thinking—just for one evening?_

Rinoa blew a strand of hair from her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "One day, will you take me with you?"

"What?" 

"That place that you're always going when you're thinking. Will you take me along with you some day?" Rinoa smiled gently as she said it, but Squall noticed the slight downward turn at the corners of her eyes. 

[][3][][4]Squall paused only for a moment—he was getting better at these things, he thought—before answering. "How about tonight, I just stay here, with you, instead?"

To Squall's infinite relief Rinoa immediately brightened. "That would be WONDERFUL!" She said, drawing him into as much of a bear hug as her slender 5'3" frame allowed. "Stay right here, with me, forever." Her words came, muffled by the collar of Squall's Jacket. 

Squall laughed, placing his hand on Rinoa's head. "I will, I promise."

Refusing to let go, Rinoa replied, "You'd better." _But you won't, you can't, my apprentice knight. I wonder if you'll ever be able to? _Rinoa ducked her head to the side and pretended to gaze out at the low slivery clouds over which the garden sailed, hiding the painful thought. 

Squall absently stroked an errant wisp of hair, freed by the warm night wind blowing across the observation deck, back into place as he held her. _Concentrate on the wind, the stars, how right it feels to hold her like this. The here and now, that's all that matters… isn't it?_

"You'd better…" Rinoa repeated quietly.

"No!" Squall jerked bolt upright in his bed. "God! No!" He gasped out the last of the nightmare's stale air. His hand groping for the phantom gunblade handle at his side, Squall stared sightlessly around the room. Griever, engraved on his gunblade case, his clothes hanging from their rack, his desk, the neat orderliness of the room slowly brought him back to reality. Squall placed a hand to his forehead; it came away covered in perspiration. He shivered with the cold of hard vacuum. Swinging his feet over the side of his bed, Squall paced the length of his dormitory single trying to evict the last of the horrible images skirling about his consciousness. The coffin-shaped med lab stasis bed, the living statues leaping to the top of the presidential palace, two rings floating weightless through a smashed faceplate, that horrible, horrible feeling of helplessness… Squall sank onto his bed and fought down the rising nausea of terror. 

"Get a grip, Squall." He gritted from between clenched teeth. _What's happening to me? _He felt as he had back at Matron's orphanage the day Sis disappeared. He could taste the sense of loss on the back of his tongue. "It's not real, it can't happen." He said to no one in particular. No one in particular agreed. 

Returning to bed was a lost cause; besides, he didn't particularly favor another go with his subconscious. Instead, Squall threw on his jacket and ammunition belts. Unsnapping the clasps on his gunblade case, he hesitated. Glancing over to the wall where a nondescript black case of similar shape stood. Irvine had picked up the revolver from who-knows-where and—along with Selphie, Quistis, and Zell—had presented it to Squall saying "Well, if we're gonna be trainin' together, you might as well come down to the level of us mortals 'cause we're never gonna get any fighting experience with you using that end-all Lionheart."

Squall shook his head, drew the Lionheart from its case, checked the chamber, and sheathed the gunblade. 

Squall stepped from his room into the dormitory hallway. Casually glancing both directions, he started toward the promenade. After five steps he stopped, the nagging fear that had receded to the back of his mind was in full cry, sending tingles to his fingertips and toes. He gave life to the feeling as he whispered: "Check on Rinoa." He turned about and began walking back down the hall. Squall was sprinting full out by the time he reached Rinoa's room. She had been delegated one of the VIP suites(dormitory section) when she had returned to the newly mobile Balamb Garden. The room had been kept on reserve ever since. Not that there was any great housing crisis—the Galbadian attack had seen to that. 

Squall hesitated not at all before entering the general access code—given to him by Cid Kramer upon Squall's assumption of Garden control—into the lock on the door. Every muscle in his body hummed with tension, his hand hovered over the handle of the gunblade. The recessed door slid with merciful silence (and speed) into the wall, and Squall slowly lowered his draw hand to his side. Rinoa lay asleep—alive—in the double-sized bed on her side, facing away from the wall. Beside her, Angelo, her canine companion, lay curled in a depression in the blankets.

Satisfied, Squall made ready to escape, but again, the last shreds of the nightmare manifested themselves and he crept into the room, as quietly as possible. Angelo—awakened by the quiet opening of the room's door, watched Squall's movements, but recognizing him, remained silent. Ever so slowly, Squall extended a finger before Rinoa's lips until he felt the warm brush of her exhalations. The look of peace on her face alone was enough to begin calming his jangled nerves. Suddenly, she stirred. Squall froze, wishing to every patron GF for an invisibility spell. Rinoa sighed in her sleep, and rolled over in bed. Allowing himself the slightest breath of relief, Squall scurried silently out into the relative safety of the hallway. Re-locking the door to Rinoa's room, he turned to return to his own quarters. 

Squall made it ten steps this time before the urge to check again became so strong he was held to the spot as if rooted to the tiled hallway floor. _What is wrong with me?!!_

Squall broke, and ran for the promenade, with each step, his disgust increased. _What am I becoming? Why am I so afraid? Why am I always so helpless?!_

By the time the massive, rusted doors to the 'Monster's Lair' swung open to usher him in, Squall had worked himself into a frenzy. The creaking boardwalk laid across the lagoon shook under his pounding footsteps as he dashed deeper into the training center. As he reached the far shore, Squall realized he hadn't been the one causing the boards to shake as a full-grown T-Rexaur stomped out of the jungle growth and roared its challenge. 

"Come at me, you son of a bitch!!" Squall shouted, throwing caution to the wind as he wrenched the Lionheart from its sheath and charged at the multi-ton beast. The T-Rexaur complied, bending down to crush Squall between its razor-sharp teeth. It was far too slow, as Squall fell and rolled under the monster's chin. Screaming incoherently, Squall drove the Lionheart upward with all his strength, but anger clouded his vision and the blade hacked into thick-corded muscle instead of vulnerable arteries. Jerking the trigger, Squall sent a bullet deep into the T-Rexaur's neck, piercing its windpipe, and blasting the gunblade free of the monster's flesh. The T-Rexaur reared back and roared in pain-tinged fury. Bellowing out its rage, the monster stomped down with its heavy hind legs, attempting to crush its tiny adversary. Even without a haste spell, Squall was able to easily dodge the beast's slow, blind blows, and he carved another gouge in it's tender underbelly, sending a second bullet into the T-Rexaur. 

This proved to be more than enough for the T-Rexaur. Deciding this meal to be much more trouble than it was worth, the monster lit out for the nearest tree cover, it's receding roars tinged with the whistling breath blowing out of the additional ventilation Squall had added to its esophagus. 

"Is that all you got?!! Yeah!! Who's helpless now goddammit?!!" Squall screamed after the fleeing beast. "C'mon!! Come at me!! I'll take you all on!! The whole world!! Dammit!!" Throwing an arm out, Squall blindly cast blizzaga into the nighttime forest. "Damn you! Damn…" he panted, sinking to his knees as the rage left his body.

"Squall… what are you doing?"

Squall jumped to his feet and turned to face Quistis Trepe. "Training." _How long has she been there?_

"Looks more like you were trying to kill yourself. Attacking a T-Rexaur at close range? I certainly hope I taught you better than that." Quistis began pacing around Squall, ticking off points on her fingers. "No use of GF, no status attacks, no protect spell, no haste spell… need I go on?"

"Sorry… I…" Squall had no ready response.

Quistis waved her hand. "No, it's alright. I understand." Quistis tilted her head toward the rear of the training center. "C'mon, let's take a walk."

Squall squelched a sigh as his hand drifted unconsciously toward his head. _I don't need a lecture right now._

"I know, you probably want to be alone. Too bad." Quistis said. 

"That's not what I—"

"—And I'm not going to lecture you." Quistis turned and began making her way back toward secret student meeting place to hide the mirth sparkling in her eyes.

_Am I that predictable?_ Squall shrugged and followed.

The pair made it to the deck overlooking the Garden without further incident. The early morning air was cooling as it washed over the ship and ruffled the low fog lying like new-fallen snow over the ocean. The large crescent of the moon illuminated the haze and ship together, and the first hint of dawn glowed greyly on the horizon. 

"The foliage is going to take some time to recover from that freeze, you know." Quistis began. 

"It was stupid, I know, I shouldn't have…" Squall replied.

"No, it's ok. I think that's the most honest I've ever seen you." Quistis said. Squall turned his head toward her, and then turned away, concentrating on the intermittent flashes of the Garden's running lights. "It's about Rinoa, isn't it?" Quistis sighed. Squall remained silent. "You know, the last time we were out here, I believe you told me to 'go talk to a wall'."

Squall turned to face Quistis. "I've grown up since then." _Haven't I?_

"Have you? You know, that's what I feel like I'm doing now—talking to a wall. It's how we all feel, Squall. Zell, Selphie, even Irvine, you've shut us all out, maybe even more so now than before this whole Ultimecia thing started. Squall, you're our leader, but we're more than just your gang..." Quistis struggled for a moment to control her emotions, then said quietly: "…we're your friends."

_Are you? Are you really? _"Then…" Squall said. _…Where were you in that time-compressed insanity? When I called out, why did no one answer me? _But that wasn't fair, he knew. It was his own fault. Even as he had shouted out their names, Squall had never really believed he was anything but alone. _Except for Rinoa? _Squall had again fallen unconsciously into his brooding posture.

Quistis sighed. "Well, at least I know you're thinking about what I said, even if you won't talk about it." She looked down at her feet. "Squall… talk to her. Whatever is happening to you, share it with her. You can't keep this bottled up forever." Quistis tried unsuccessfully to force a laugh. "The garden doesn't have enough T-Rexaurs…" She trailed off. "If you can't share this with Zell, Selphie, Irvine or…" She paused. "…or me, then share it with her." Quistis turned away, but not before Squall caught the glint from a tear in Quistis's eye.

At a loss, Squall turned and locked his stare on a point far out on the endless expanse of sea and sky as Quistis fled with the remnants of her composure. _I've never seen instructor Trepe like this before. Even when she lost her instructor's license… _He pounded a fist down on the rail. _God, what's happening to us? We won… …it shouldn't be like this…is it my fault?_

Upon returning to the dormitory, Squall paused at the door to his room, resisting the urgent tug of his mind toward Rinoa's room. 'talk to her' Quistis had said… Squaring his shoulders, Squall said, "I can handle it." And returned to his own bed, unconvinced.

"Yoo-Hoo! Squall!" 

The words, along with the crying of seagulls from the brightness outside his window quickly dragged Squall from his mercifully dreamless sleep. He noted with embarrassment, the gunblade still strapped to his side, and rumpled jacket in which he had fallen asleep. He cast about the room for any alternatives to emerging in his current frazzled state, naturally there were none. Selphie shouted again. "Hey! Sleepyhead!! GET UP!!" A quick series of thuds resounded from the door as armored fists beat out a clanking rhythm on the metal panels. 

"On my way!" Squall shouted. _Not Zell too. _Looking like this was not going to instill confidence in his teammates. He shrugged, no alternative. 

"Hurry up man!! They're gonna be all outta hotDAWGS!!" The door shook with a solid blow as Zell kicked it. 

"Easy there, tiger, you're gonna break it." Came Irvine's voice as Squall keyed the door open. 

"EEK!" Screamed Selphie.

"YOW!" Shouted Zell.

Irvine raised an eyebrow.

Quistis chuckled.

Rinoa smiled.

Squall placed a hand over his face. Naturally all of them would come to wake him up the one morning he looked like this.

"I think I just lost my appetite." Zell said. 

"SAVE ME!!" Selphie screamed dramatically, ducking behind Irvine. 

"I think it's an improvement." Irvine observed.

"Enough." Squall said at last. "Let's go."

"Alright! It's back!!" Zell proclaimed, and took off down the hallway. "Yeah, gimme some sweet HOT-DOGGIN!" 

"Hey! Save some for the rest of us, you pig!" Selphie shouted as she gave chase. 

"See ya'll!" Irvine tipped his hat before loping off after Selphie. 

"…Ah, I'd better make sure they don't get into any trouble." Quistis said, shooting Squall a knowing look before trotting off after the receding voices of the others.

Rinoa tilted her head up at Squall and smiled as she said, "you are genuine fright, you know?"

"Thanks." Squall replied, tugging his jacket down in an attempt to smooth out the night's creases. 

Rinoa looked down at her feet. "You… were in my room last night… weren't you?" 

Astounded, Squall blurted, "Yes." After a pause, he realized that didn't seem like enough. "Are you angry?"

"Maybe." Rinoa smiled slyly up at him. "Depends on why you were there."

"I…" _was so afraid that you'd be gone…_ "…don't…" _ever want to leave your side, don't ever want to take that risk…_"…know." _…what I'm doing or who I am anymore._

A look of concern fluttered across Rinoa's face. "Squall, what is it? You can tell me."

Squall saw only one way out. _Not here, not now. _"Ask me again sometime…" 

Rinoa didn't look terribly happy with that reply, but she shrugged. "Alright, I will." She grabbed Squall's arm and began dragging him down the hall. "Now come on. I'm HUNGRY!"

At 0700 the five SeeDs and one sorceress assembled in Cid Kramer's office as per his request. As Cid entered, the SeeDs stiffened to attention, presenting their one-armed salutes as one. Cid waved them off. "Quite unnecessary." He surveyed the group. "Ladies and gentlemen, let me thank you all for coming." He paused a moment, then continued. "First of all, I wish to congratulate you all again on your exemplary action against the sorceress Ultimecia. Without you, this world, and everyone living on it would have certainly perished."   
Zell and Selphie beamed at this, while Irvine tipped his hat in a tacit 'aw, shucks' gesture. Quistis and Rinoa both smiled. Only Squall showed no expression, he had heard this all before at the celebration banquet after the garden had retrieved the team from the area of Edea's Orphanage. He waited for the 'but'.

"However, monumental as these occurrences have been, I am afraid we have precious little time for self-congratulations. I believe it was you, Irvine Kinneas who asked me, in your manner, what one does after one has saved the world from an evil sorceress."Cid paused for emphasis. "What one does... is proceed to save the world from itself." Cid turned toward the door. "Xu, Doctor Kadowaki, Edea, please come in." 

The SeeDs and sorceress turned nodding and smiling to acknowledge the Balamb Garden's resident SeeD advisor, Doctor, and Cid Kramer's wife, the former sorceress Edea.

"Right then, down to business." Cid continued after all had entered. "I'll try to keep this as short as possible. Since we have such a big group today, I'll ask you to hold your questions and comments until I'm finished."

As Cid began his speech, Squall's attention began to wander. He had heard all this before. Cid had spoken to him privately shortly after his return to the garden about the global situation. The garden system was in shambles. The primary capital and shareholder of Balamb Garden, NORG, was dead, his assets legally frozen in a dozen different countries pending re-distribution and taxation. Trabia Garden, decimated by Galbadian missiles had withdrawn from active service as a Garden, recalling all of it's contracted mercenaries, and defaulting on all contracts. Even if the garden were successful in rebuilding, it would be years before Trabia's power and prestige would be restored. 

Galbadia Garden was still occupied by the Galbadian military despite promises to withdraw after the defeat of sorceress Ultimecia when she had possessed Edea, and no one knew exactly where the hell it had gone, apparently the Galbadians were attempting to hold it as a wild card in their war with the rest of the planet. 

Balamb Garden was the only remaining fully functional Garden on the globe, yet it's student and mercenary population had been badly depleted by a Galbadian assault in the Centra Archipelago. The remaining students and instructors had been hard at work to restore the Garden and move on with life, but even their best efforts couldn't replace the lost students.

That left Esthar and Galbadia as the two remaining powers in the world. The Esthar military had been ravaged trying to defend the capital from the onslaught of monsters brought down from the moon by the Lunatic Pandora—still under the control of the Galbadians, and the president, Laguna Loire—a former Galbadian soldier-turned-writer-turned-revolutionary, had vanished after the defeat of Ultimecia, along with the presidential cabinet—Kiros Seagill and Ward Zabac—and the sorceress Ellone. He was rumored to be visiting a town in Galbadia, but no one knew for certain. No one was really sure how long it took to recharge the Lunatic Pandora after the Lunar Cry, but it was certain that Esthar would try to remove the Pandora from it's airspace with all speed.

Though Galbadia was strategically poised to finish off its remaining adversaries, in actuality, the country was little better off than Esthar. The sorceress Ultimecia—who had been controlling the Galbadian military was dead, Seifer Almasy, the commander and chief of Galbadia's military had disappeared after his defeat within the Lunatic Pandora, along with his two heads of staff, Raijin and Fujin. Garden intelligence reported sighting him in the vicinity of Balamb, and it was assumed that he had resigned his commission within the Galbadian military. The sorceress Ultimecia had assassinated President Deling earlier in the year. The dispossessed general Caraway was all that remained of Galbadia's high-level military command structure. The massive Galbadian army was suffering desertations at a rate unheard of in that country's history, and the entire nation was reeling on the edge of revolution as dozens of splinter groups and resistance factions attracted large segments of the disenchanted Galbadian public. A small war was already heating up in Timber—a country occupied by Galbadian forces—as revolutionaries attempted to throw off the shackles of their oppressive Galbadian occupiers. 

That left Balamb Garden and Cid's question; what to do about their current situation.

"And that brings us to our current situation. I've called you all here today because you are prominent members of this Garden, and above all others, I value your feelings on what this Garden's course should be." Cid finished.

Unsure of the proper protocol, Zell naturally threw both his arms in the air and danced about to draw attention. With only the slightest rolling of eyes, Cid called on him. "Yes, Zell?"

"Uh, Headm— er… Mr. Kramer, Sir. I don't mean to be rude, but uh… isn't Squall… uh…" Zell suddenly found that being the center of attention wasn't always what it was cracked up to be. "…well, sort of in charge?"

To Zell's infinite relief, Cid smiled. "Excellent point, Zell, I'll let Squall handle that one."

Squall turned to face his comrades. "As of 10:00 hours today, I will be returning control of this garden to Headmaster Cid Kramer. Control of the garden was delivered to me under the assumption that I would be best equipped to deal with the elimination of the sorceress Ultimecia. That mission being complete, I will now return control of the Balamb Garden to Headmaster Kramer. I believe he is best suited to determine the Garden's course from now on." Squall finished his prepared statement, the same one he would be giving over the Garden's PA system in less than three hours. Behind him he heard Irvine whispering. 

"I think that there's the longest speech I've ever heard Squall give." He said quietly to Selphie.

Cid smiled. "Thank you Squall. My primary concern right now is the rebuilding of this Garden's fighting capability. Balamb Garden was established to defeat evil sorceresses, not to arbitrate global conflicts. Right now, I plan to head back to Balamb as I believe that is about as neutral a country as we are going to find. Plus what support facilities this Garden owns are there. I'm open to any suggestions or comments you have at this time." 

"Wasn't the stuff we left behind destroyed by the Galbadian missiles?" Selphie asked.

"Well, yes, and no." Cid answered. "The platform on which the Garden rested was destroyed, so we won't be able to land, though I don't see any reason why we would want to de-mobilize the garden. Our support systems in Balamb's port are still in place, though. The Galbadians didn't think to destroy or confiscate our marine assault craft and other vehicles in storage there."

"What about the underwater railway into Timber?" Xu said. "I believe it would be prudent to put some sort of apparatus on that to prevent Galbadia from infiltrating Balamb in that manner." 

"I'm glad you asked." Cid replied. "I've already dispatched one of our remaining strike teams with underwater experience to locate and use one of our minisubs in Balamb to mine the underwater rail line. We'll establish guards at the Balamb depot and if the Galbadians try anything, we'll blow their supply line." 

Squall noticed Quistis's slightly disturbed expression. So did the Headmaster. "I know it sounds extreme. I don't like thinking about it either, but Galbadia has shown that they have no qualms about destroying this garden, and everyone in it, so we must not waver in our resolution to resist them. Even if it means endangering the lives of noncombatants." 

Edea spoke up from beside the Headmaster. "We don't believe that Galbadia is going to try anything like that. With the sorceress gone, the cohesive force that held their empire together is weakening. I expect they will be withdrawing their assault troops in order to deal with their problems at home.

Irvine raised a finger. "Uh, so if the landing pad for the Garden was destroyed in the missile attack, where are we gonna park this here thing?" 

"After some consideration, I decided it would be best to anchor the garden near Balamb City, we'll use some of our watercraft as ferries to the port there." Cid paused a moment before continuing. "I decided this would be a good way of ensuring the Garden's safety. After all, we really don't know what is going on inside Galbadia right now, keeping some water between ourselves and any potential landing sites for Galbadian forces seems like a prudent idea. Plus we can move the Garden on a moment's notice, though I don't expect that'll be necessary seeing as how SeeD has taken care of Galbadia's long-range missile strike capability."

Irvine grinned and ruffled Selphie's hair. "My destructive little darlin'." 

"Tee-hee." Selphi grinned by way of reply and a maniacal glint crept into her eyes.

"So we will begin contracting out SeeD agents again?" Doctor Kadowakispoke up.

Cid sighed at this. "Yes. I would've liked to give everyone a chance to recover from the events of the past months, but it looks like we're going to have to start pushing our profits back out of the red. I hate to think of it this way, but NORG was right about one thing—without money, this garden dies. I'll try to cut back on assignments as much as possible and give people a chance to recover, but we're short-handed and low on funds. We're also going to have to begin some aggressive recruitment programs to fill out our empty slots." Cid winced.

Squall's gaze wandered to his left where Rinoa stood, he noticed the peculiar expression that crossed her face. He hadn't seen her set her jaw like that since before the failed assassination attempt in Deling City. 

"Sir, what about Trabia and Galbadia gardens?" Selphie asked.

"I'm afraid there isn't much we can do about Galbadia Garden, it's out of our hands for the moment, we'll just have to see how things play out. As for Trabia, we'll offer what assistance we can. I'm sorry, there's not much more we can do."

Selphi looked a bit crestfallen. "Well… if there's anything I can do…" 

Cid thought for a moment. "Hm… well, we do need someone to chair the 'Trabia Assistance Committee.'" A twinkle appeared behind the Headmaster's glasses. "Would you be interested in that?"

"WOULD I EVER!" Selphie jumped three-and-one-half feet straight up.

"Hoo-boy, here we go again." Zell rolled his eyes.

"Alright then, that's settled… if there aren't any further questions then?" Cid looked about. No one volunteered anything. "Ok, well, if you think of any, feel free to call on me at any time. If I'm not in my office, I'll leave a message saying where I can be found." Cid smiled. "Thank you all for coming, sorry to keep you all standing here for so long. Dismissed." 

Xu turned to the five SeeDs. "Ok you guys are probably getting a little antsy, so take a 15 minute break and then meet me in front of the training center, except for you, Squall, Rinoa, I believe Headmaster Kramer has something further…" She gestured toward Cid.

"Thank you Xu." Cid turned to Squall and Rinoa. "Yes, Edea and I need to speak with you two." He waved to the remaining SeeDs. "Good luck everyone, and be careful." 

Edea turned toward Squall and Rinoa. "Come with me, please." She said, and led them to the right side of the office/lower bridge. "Cid, are you coming?" She called to her husband. 

"Go ahead, dear, I'll join you in a moment, I just want to give some additional instructions to our pilot." The Headmaster said as he stepped onto the lift leading to the bridge.

Edea nodded and, reaching under small shelf set into the wall's wooden paneling depressed a hidden switch. A section of the wall swung outward, revealing another room. Edea motioned the Squall and Rinoa inside. "Go on in and make yourselves comfortable.

First to enter the small study, Rinoa exclaimed. "Ooh, I love the decorations!" 

It was, indeed, a rather well endowed room, compared to the Spartan standards of the rest of the Garden, Squall noted. Mahogany wood paneling on every wall gave way to a thick deep maroon carpeting on which stood polished cherry-wood furniture covered by thick, plush, red velvet cushions. Twin Helios style crystal windows refracted the sunlight around the room in cascades of gold edged with rainbows. 

Rinoa quickly chose a seat on a small comfortable-looking sofa, and patted the cushion next to her, indicating where she wanted Squall to sit. 

After a second quick glance around the room, Squall complied. 

"Can I offer you a glass of water?" Edea asked, temporizing, until Cid returned.

Squall declined. It made him feel vaguely uncomfortable to be treated like this by Matron, the woman who had raised him since before he could remember. Rinoa also declined. 

"I know you must be curious about why we asked you here, but I'd prefer to wait until Cid arrives." Edea apologized. "I'm sorry, he's a bit absent-minded about these sort of things." 

# It's ok, Matron, you don't have to explain to me…

It was then that the door to the room swung open, admitting the Headmaster. He smiled as he entered. "Welcome to my private study, and sometimes conference room." He waved his arms, encompassing the entire room. 

"It's lovely." Rinoa said. Squall nodded.

"Thank you, but Edea is responsible more than I." The headmaster took his wife's hand as they sat on a second sofa facing Squall and Rinoa. "Well, then, I imagine you know we asked you here to talk about things other than interior decoration. Edea."

"Rinoa, as you know, by agreeing to accept my powers several weeks ago, you have become a sorceress. In terms of open magic usage, this means that spells you cast, your draw ability, your GF usage, in short, every magic-related action is enhanced by a factor of two or more."

At this, Rinoa broke eye contact with Edea and looked down at her feet." Three."

"I'm sorry?"

"Three." Rinoa sighed, shivering slightly as she relived the memory. "When Adel and Ultimecia were trying to junction my powers… Well, Squall and the others stopped them. I felt Ultimecia's consciousness flee Adel's body as it entered my own…" Her voice shook slightly. "I… I also felt Adel's consciousness, trapped, and in terrible pain…" Rinoa's hand had crept into Squall's as if by it's own accord. Unsure of himself, hoping it would help, he gave her a reassuring squeeze. Rinoa paused and smiled gratefully at Squall. Resolutely, she continued. "She was suffering, and needed to pass on her powers. She reached out to me, and I accepted them. Then Adel was gone, and Ultimecia took control of me." Rinoa drew in a breath. "So I guess, I've junctioned the power of two sorceresses." 

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry, I didn't realize what occurred aboard the Lunatic Pandora. Well, yes, essentially, you are correct. Your magical powers will be increased threefold or so. It's hard to be exact about these things as it varies from sorceress to sorceress." Edea paused for a moment. 

Cid spoke up. "Of course, you probably have already noticed this power manifesting itself. That's not the real reason we called you here today." He nodded to Edea.

"Rinoa, there are… other effects of your powers." Edea began. Her tone made Squall feel a bit uneasy.

"Other effects?" Rinoa couldn't keep the tone of worry from her voice.

"Yes, well…" Cid cleared his throat. "They're not nearly as well documented or as apparent as your magical abilities in battle. They usually don't manifest in any noticeable manner until you have been a sorceress for a substantial period."

"Substantial period?" 

"From a few weeks to a year." Cid clarified. "Within the year, you'll have a pretty good idea of what your additional powers are. They may change over time, but…"

Edea leaned forward. "Oh, don't look so worried, dear. It's nothing to be afraid of. My powers manifested in my ability to calm the children at my orphanage, and I believe they also brought good luck to myself and those who knew me." 

Cid sighed. "And Ultimecia's power gave her control over her subjects through fear and intimidation over an entire continent." He reflected.

Edea shot her husband a warning look too late. Cid blanched slightly as he realized his faux pas. "But uh, er, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." He added lamely.

"Rinoa, honestly, the appearance of these powers isn't something to fear, it should be something you look forward to. As a former sorceress, I can sense something of what your powers will be, and I'm sure you'll find their effects to be something wonderful." Edea reassured her.

Squall thought he could feel some of the tension drain out of Rinoa at Edea's assurances. She might not be a sorceress anymore, but the Matron of the old orphanage still possessed the ability to calm those around her.

"As I told you before, every sorceress has a knight. It is tradition. He will act as your guardian, confidant, and advisor." Edea smiled at Cid as she said this. He happily took her hand and held it.

"A knight will bring you balance and stability. Comfort in times of trial, and companionship in times of joy." Edea and Cid now sat directly facing one another, their young guests forgotten. 

Rinoa leaned over and whispered to Squall. "They look so happy together even after all that's happened. Do you think we'll ever be like that?"

_I don't know, I think I hope so._

Edea remembered herself, and turned again to face Rinoa and Squall. "So, Rinoa, do you have any prospective knights in mind?" She said with a slight smile.

"Yes I do." Rinoa announced happily. "Squall Leonhart." She squeezed his hands again.

"Squall?" Edea turned to him. 

_What am I supposed to say, but even if—oh shit, answer!_

"Yes." He nodded. 

_But what was I supposed to say? How could I refuse… and HOW could I refuse? I never asked for any of this. I can't stand to be apart from her, and yet I'm desperately afraid of what it means to be with her._

"Cid, why don't you and Squall go on out, we'll join you in a moment." Edea said. 

"Huh? Oh, yes, of course." The Headmaster rose, as did Squall and they made their way out of the study into Cid's main office. 

As the door swung shut, Cid coughed nervously, and began polishing his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "Uh, girl talk." He said by way of apology. 

_This is so strange. To be speaking with the headmaster and Matron. Not giving a report, not receiving orders, but just talking, as equals. I guess it really is time to grow up._

"Well, uh, Squall." The Headmaster seemed to be having trouble formulating his sentences. "I suppose there's a few things Edea would want me to tell you." He paused for a moment. "I guess you pretty much get the idea of what it means to be the sorceress's knight…"

_I have no idea. I know how I feel about Rinoa, but… but what? Since when has Squall Leonhart been afraid of—what? Commitment? Since he joined the SeeD-training program at Balamb Garden? Since he agreed (?) to lead that same garden into battle against a sorceress from the future? I've never had problems making decisions like this… why do I feel like this now?_

__"…but there's something you must always do. Always follow her orders, no matter what. It's a thousand-year-old trust between sorceresses and their knights, not once in the millennium has it been broken. I… ah… well, it may be difficult at times, but you must always…" Cid trailed off and Squall could tell he was becoming lost in his own memories. Normally, Squall hated adults reminiscing like this, but the headmaster had been though so much—come to think of it, who hadn't? …Maybe he should learn to be a bit more understanding of these kind of things.

_Always follow the sorceress's orders? Is that what you were doing, Headmaster? When you ordered us to execute Edea…was it because of what she commanded? What does it feel like to give an order like that? Will I ever have…_

The door to the study slid open, Edea emerged, followed by Rinoa. 

"It will take up to several years to adjust, and metamorphosis into a full sorceress." Edea was saying. "So both of you, take it slowly, one day at a time." She looked at her husband.

Cid continued her thought. "We'll be here, if you need help, advice, anything. I'm sure you'll be just fine." Edea nodded at that. "Uh, as for now, well. Rinoa, we would be happy to have you stay on with us at Balamb garden as a sort of honorary SeeD if you're willing. A sorceress SeeD…" He trailed off as Edea patted him on the arm. 

"Dear, they've got a lot on their minds right now, maybe we can spare the details until later?" 

"Oh, right. Of course." Cid finished. "Thank you for coming. Squall, if you could be on the bridge with me at 10:00?" 

_Why are you asking me? Can't you just make it an order?_ "Of course, Sir." Squall said.

"Ok, until then."

"Dismissed?"

"Uh, yes." Cid seemed to be avoiding that term at all cost.

Back in the elevator at last, Rinoa leaned against the wall paneling. "Whoof. That's a lot to take in. I think my head is about to explode." 

_You said it._

"Squall?" Rinoa tilted her head to the side.

"You said it." Squall verbalized.

Rinoa clapped her hands. "Ooh! Finally! You finally said what you were thinking!" 

Squall's brow furrowed. "How did you know…?"

"Silly! I'm a sorceress! I know allllll." She giggled, casting mock spells on Squall's nose. In fact, I've got a confession to make." 

"Hm?" Squall raised an eyebrow.

"I've been casting spells on you since we met." Rinoa placed her arm on Squall's shoulder, then pulled it off and waved her hand in circles in front of his face. "Remember this?" 

"You're-going-to-like-me… you're-going-to-like-me?" Squall asked.

Rinoa stepped back, placing one foot in front of the other, and bending slightly at the waist and tilting her head to the side. "Did it work?"

Squall's eyes widened. His pupils dilated and for one icy instant, his heart froze. That entire night's memories, mixed and muddled with those from the time compression, hit him like an express train. _Oh god! _He staggered against the glass doors of the lift. 

"Squall!" Rinoa lunged forward and held him from falling. 

The feeling vanished the second Rinoa touched him. His arm, latched on to the railing, steadied him. 

"What is it?" Rinoa's face was shadowed by concern.

"Just… just a little deja-vu… that's all." Squall shook his head. "It's gone now." He shrugged. 

"A little?" The concern was gone, like a summer cloud lifting from the sun. Rinoa rolled her eyes. "Are you going for the title of King of Understatement or something? That was 'A little deja-vu.' Falling with that basement ladder, through that window was 'nothing new'." She gave him a playful shove.

"I'd settle for knight." Squall replied.

"Well, ok then, Sir Knight—" Another twinge. "Are we going to stand in this elevator fit for a prince all day, or are you going to push a button?" Rinoa asked.

"I thought you were the sorceress who knows allll…" Squall quipped. 

Delighted that she had gotten Squall to loosen up just the tiniest bit, Rinoa closed her eyes and intoned. "I, sorceress Rinoa Heartilly shall now use my supernatural powers to determine the best destination for this elevator." She jabbed a button. 

"!!BRRRRRRIIIIINGG!!" The elevator's alarm bell clanged.

Squall couldn't help but laugh as he hit the cut-off switch. A voice crackled over the elevator intercom. "Is everything all right in there?" Rinoa clapped a hand over her mouth the contain her laughter. Her eyes sparkled above cheeks puffed out with bottled delight. 

Squall couldn't help himself. "AACK! Help! I'm trapped in an elevator with a crazed button sorceress!" He shouted. 

At that, Rinoa exploded into gales of mirth. She clung to Squall to keep herself from collapsing to the floor. Squall himself was having a hard time controlling himself. The dam built over years and years of serious strata was beginning to crack. He shook with the effort to hold back the tide. 

The intercom crackled again. "Buttons what? Hold on, we're sending someone up to help!" 

Rinoa found this amusing as well and calmed down not a whit. Just being clung to by a person seized by hilarity was wearing away at Squall's self control. He resolutely shored it back up again. 

Rinoa buried her face in Squall's chest until her laughter subsided a bit. Just then, the doors to the elevator slid open, and Squall—who had been leaning against them for support, fell directly on top of Headmaster Cid Kramer at the exact same instant as a garden facility member poked his head through the service hatch on the elevator's floor. 

"What's going on here?" Said the garden staff.

"WOA!" Cried Squall.

"AIEE!" Shouted Rinoa.

"OOF!" Said Cid.

"THUD!" Went Squall, Rinoa, and Cid.

"DING." Went the elevator.

It was all too much, Rinoa and Squall spent the next few moments helpless with laughter on the floor of the hall, helped not at all by the cross-eyed expression of befuddlement on the headmaster's face.

"It really wasn't all that funny." Squall gasped after the Headmaster had collected himself, and with a final shake of his head, entered the elevator with the nonplussed garden staff, departing for parts unknown.

"I know." Rinoa said, and giggled.

"Shall we get off the floor now?"

"Yeah."

Much later, after the pleasant aching of amusement had subsided, Rinoa and Squall stood on the second-floor observation deck, watching gulls surfing on air currents created by the motion of the Garden. In the far distance, Squall thought he could just begin to make out the dark line of the Balamb coast.

"Squall, what was it?" Rinoa asked from beside him.

"What?" 

"What was it that you saw, in the elevator today? What made you come into my room last night?" Rinoa tilted her head, and a few wisps of dark hair fell away from her eyes.

Squall sighed. _I really don't want to think about that, now. …or ever. How CAN I talk about things like that… I want… I want to keep it inside. Keep that horrible thing inside me, where you're safe from it. Something like that should never be set free by talking about it… right?_

"Oh, come back." Rinoa frowned. "Please. Don't leave me here alone." She sighed unhappily. 

Squall felt a twinge of guilt at Rinoa's sad expression. "Alright." _Squall, you can't be serious…_

This time it was Rinoa who took Squall's hand.

He sighed again. "When time was compressed…" _Squall, you're not going to tell her._ "…I was all alone… nowhere."

Rinoa gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"A feather… floating out of the nothing." _Squall, don't say any more. _"I knew it was you… I knew you would come for me…" _Be silent!_ "…I saw…" _SHUT UP DAMMIT! _And it was gone. Vanished.

"What!?" 

"Nothing." Squall shook his head. She was here, next to him, and the thing was gone, banished. "Just a stupid meaningless nightmare, I don't know why it got to me like that." _Yes you do._ "Sorry to get you all worked up like that."

"Ooh! You are impossible! All that, and you're not even going to tell me!" Rinoa stamped her foot. 

"We've got other things to worry about." Squall carefully changed the subject. "Did something the Headmaster said bother you?"

Squall watched Rinoa's thoughts shift track. "Why, yes. How did you know?"

"You looked a little… disturbed… earlier." 

"Well, 'empty slots', 'aggressive recruitment'? He sounded just like that man in Deling." Rinoa's jaw set it self in that peculiar manner again.

Squall knew she was referring to her father, General Caraway, former leader of the Galbadian armed forces. "I know. I don't think it's as easy for him as he makes it seem, though." 

"No, it's alright, I guess. I keep forgetting, that's the way you live." Rinoa sighed. "I guess everyone does what they have to… just like when I was back in Timber.

A silent pause, "Do you want to go back?" Squall asked.

"I… I think so. I know you weren't around us for long, but the Forest Owls… well, it meant a lot to us." She looked down. "After everything that's happened I know it sounds silly but…"

"…it still means a lot to you." Squall said quietly. Rinoa raised her eyes to his, grateful for his understanding.

"Yes… it still does."

At 0950 Squall entered the bridge by way of the lift from the Headmaster's office. He had not seen the headmaster on his trip back to the bridge, nor was Cid present on the bridge when he arrived. Instead the helmsman, Nidia, greeted him.

"Hey, Squall. How ya doin'?"

"Fine." 

"Glad to hear it. We're about two hours out from the Balamb coast. Uh, Headmaster Kramer and Xu have been directing the Garden while you've been gone." Nidia told him.

"Good." 

"Ok then." Realizing further attempts at conversation would be a wasted effort, Nidia turned back to the helm.

Squall sighed. Probably, his last act as the official commander of the garden shouldn't be to give the helmsman the cold shoulder. _But what am I supposed to talk about?_ "So you know, I'll be returning control to Headmaster Kramer momentarily." 

"Oh really? Ok, thanks for letting me know." Nidia said.

Pleased with his initiative, Squall decided he could get in a good five minutes of brooding before the headmaster arrived. 

Seven minutes later, Cid rode the lift up onto the bridge. Squall gave his canned speech and the Headmaster reassumed control of the Garden.

Curled up with her favorite book in the corner of the library, where she had gone to sit and think, Rinoa smiled quietly to herself at the clipped sentences. 

Zell put down the hammer he had been using to knock a recalcitrant peg into a support beam for the new decking that was being laid over the gaping hole left in the Quad by the battle with Galbadia Garden. He tilted his head to the side at Squall's voice. "Say, does this sound familiar to anyone else?" 

Selphie conked him lightly on the head with a level. "Of course, silly, it's the same speech he gave to us this morning." Then she dashed off to haul Irvine away from the flock of female students toward which he had been gravitating.

Quistis paused in her speech explaining the fundamentals of status magic junctioning to a class of potential SeeDs she had been asked to teach as the regular instructor was recovering from injuries received defending the Garden. She waited patiently through Squall's and then the Headmaster's speech, laying out the fundamentals of that morning's conference to the entire garden, then resumed the lesson after the last chime had faded away.

At 1300 hours, as Xu had requested, the five SeeDs and one sorceress assembled again at the entrance to the training center. 

Rubbing his two sore thumbs, Zell complained. "Man, Xu, the last time you told us to meet you here, I thought we were gonna bust some heads. Instead, we ended up busting our humps trying to put Balamb back together again." 

"Ah, quit'cher whining." Irvine advised him. "You hardly did any work at all, what with you always trying to pound your own hands into the deck instead of the nails." 

"Yo man! I'm a fighter, not a carpenter." Zell grimaced.

"Could've fooled me." Irvine rolled his eyes.

"Hey! What's that supposed to…" Zell showed uncharacteristic restraint, trailing off as Xu raised a hand for silence.

Looking the group over she said: "I've called you all here because it's been several months since your last combat assessment. In fact, most of you haven't had such an assessment since your graduation." She paused. "Now you have been submitting answers online to the SeeD tests, and your scores have been quite high," she paused, staring directly at Zell, "for most of you." Zell winced. 

"Uh, excuse me." Rinoa began. "I'm not really a member of SeeD, um…" 

"Why are you here?" Xu finished for her. Rinoa nodded. "Headmaster Kramer asked me to conduct an assessment of your powers as well, he told me he thought it might be helpful to you to if we began keeping a record of your abilities for you." Xu spread her hands. "It's purely voluntary of course. If you don't wish to participate, you're under no obligation."

"No, it's ok. If Cid and Edea think it's a good idea…" Rinoa trailed off.

"Yeah, Rinoa, it'll be interesting to see how all our abilities match up!" Selphie said. 

"Ok, if everyone will check their GF… I'll give you a few moments to stretch out before we enter the training center." Xu said, turning toward the hallway leading to the 'monster's lair'.

As the group followed her, Rinoa leaned over and whispered to Squall, "How romantic, just like our first date!" She giggled at his embarrassment.

Squall placed a hand over his face. _She's never going to let me forget that._

"No, I'm not." Rinoa whispered, and winked at him.

After everyone had prepared themselves, the group of seven SeeDs and one sorceress entered the training arena. Almost immediately, the undergrowth next to the path through the center rustled, and a Grat stepped out into their path, waving its leafy appendages menacingly. 

"Ok, Mr. Dincht, you're up." Xu said. Everyone else fell back as Zell strolled jauntily up to the monster. Almost immediately, it fell upon him, attempting to catch him up in it's leafy tentacles. 

Zell was ready for this, and, showboating a bit, he sprang into the air, flipping over a flailing razor-sharp leaf. As the monster turned to face him, Zell delivered two quick, powerful left jabs to its soft torso followed by a screaming right hook. The Grat reeled backward from the blows. Zell danced a few steps away from the beast before shimmering lines of magical energy coalesced inward on him as he cast Fira on the Grat. The battle was over almost before it had begun. "Yeah baby!" Zell shouted punching at the air. "Who's da man?!" 

Xu's eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "Very impressive, Mr. Dincht." She scribbled a few notes on her clipboard. "Alright, lets move on. 

After the group had proceeded a bit deeper into the arena a second Grat appeared in their path. "Ok, Mr. Kinneas." Xu said. "Your turn." 

Irvine tipped his hat and sauntered confidently toward the monster. With a flick of his wrist, he cracked open the chamber of his Exeter, withdrew two rounds of ammunition from his ammunition belt, placed them in the weapon, and snapped it shut again. Pausing well outside the range of the Grat's leafy appendages, he rested the gun level on his arm. Turning to wink at Selphie he fired both barrels without even checking his aim. The force of the blast sent the Grat tumbling. It did not stir after rolling to a stop. Irvine grinned, cracked the weapon open again, withdrew the spent cartridges, snapped it shut, and blew the smoke from the muzzle. 

Xu frowned as she tapped her pencil on her clipboard. 

"Something wrong, mam?" Irvine drawled.

"No, nothing… that's the problem." Xu sighed. "Well, let's move on, I guess."

Irvine shot a wide grin at Zell who looked nonplussed.

"Squall, you're next on the list… so…" Xu trailed off as a thunderous roar shook the surrounding foliage. The group drew back a few steps as a hungry-looking T-Rexaur stomped out of the trees. 

"Woa! I'm glad it's not MY turn!" Selphie said, backing up.

"Everyone! Get back!" Xu shouted. "Squall, you don't have to fight this, disengage and we'll find another Grat." 

"I can handle it." Squall drew the Lionheart from it's sheath, he swung it in two slashes in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the T-Rexaur. "C'mon you bastard, come at me." He whispered. 

The massive beast lowered its head, preparing to charge, it stared at its target. Deep within the thick skull of the monster, a synaptic nerve connection fired, and a spark of recognition crept into the T-Rexaur's eyes. Suddenly, it straightened and with an earthshaking roar, wheeled on its powerful hind legs and fled post haste into the trees. 

Xu dropped her clipboard. 

Keeping his expression dead even, Squall turned and walked slowly back to the group. Everyone, except Quistis simply stared at him in silence. Even Selphie, though her mouth hung open, said nothing. Sheathing the Lionheart, Squall shrugged. "Guess it wasn't that hungry." Squall ducked his head to hide the tiny smile. When the T-Rexaur had roared before fleeing, he had seen—as had Quistis—the ugly red scabs on the underside of it's neck from a bullet and a blade.

"O-Ok…" Xu said, gathering herself. "Let's, uh, press on." She collected her clipboard and pencil from where they had fallen." 

The roars of the T-Rexaur had apparently caused some the lesser beasts in the training arena to avoid the area for the time being, and the group had nearly completed a circuit of the trail through the center before a flying Granaldo whirred out of the trees before them. 

Squall's hand fell to the grip of his gunblade. "Shall I take this one, Xu?" 

"Would there be any point?" Xu asked.

"Probably not." 

"Whoo-Hoo! That mean's I'm up!" Selphie shouted. "Alphabetical order right?"

Xu nodded. "Have at it, Miss Tilmitt."

"Go get 'em, darlin'!" Irvine said, slapping Selphie on the backside. 

With a shout of indignation, she whirled on him, readying her Crescent Wish to strike. She probably would have, too, had not Zell shouted at that instant.

"Look out!!" Zell, and the rest of the party threw themselves to the ground as the Granaldo buzzed low over the group. 

Selphie was the first one on her feet. She stared down at the leaves and debris covering her outfit. "AIEE!! I JUST WASHED THIS!!" She readied her Crescent Wish. "Ooh, you're going to pay for that, you stupid bug!!" With a twisting motion, she flung the striking bar of her weapon arcing toward the Granaldo. It struck with a solid thud, and sent the Granaldo reeling into a tree. It crashed to the ground; it's wings buzzing intermittently. The Granaldo attempted to regain the air, but tendrils of the poisonous Bio magic junctioned to Selphie's status attack suffused the monster. After a few seconds, it's motions ceased. 

"Hmph! Serves you right" Selphie said, shouldering her weapon. 

Dusting herself off, Xu said. "Is everyone ok?" Receiving nods all around, she continued. "Ok, we might as well turn around and go back thorough."

After a few moments of walking, a third Grat sprang from the bushes, directly in front of the group in a surprise attack. Without waiting for the order she knew would come, Quistis whirled her Red Scorpion in a circle over her head and brought it's striking tip down on the monster with a supersonic whip crack. The Grat's appendages, raised to attack quivered, and fell to its sides. The monster's legs ceased to support it, and it fell over on it's back, a gaping split cut straight down the center of it's torso.

Xu blinked. "Good work, Miss Trepe. Excellent initiative."

They continued on.

As they crossed the boardwalk over the lagoon, it appeared that no more monsters would appear before they reached the gateway out of the training center. A growl set this notion to rest. Before the group, two Fastitocalon-F fins dug furrows in the path, heading toward the SeeDs and sorceress. 

"Hm…" Xu frowned. "How did those get in here? Uh, Miss Heartilly, if you would like, we could begin the assessment…" 

"Of course." Rinoa nodded. She took a few steps forward, readying the Shooting Star on her right arm.

Squall found that his hand had involuntarily locked around his gunblade handle. He leaned backward slightly, so strong was the pull to assist Rinoa.

Rinoa fired her Shooting Star at the leftmost Fastitocalon-F. To no-one's surprise—except perhaps Xu's, it cut cleanly through the exposed fin. 

Enraged, the Fastitocalon-F sprang from the soil and streaked straight toward Rinoa. Calmly, she raised her left hand and pointed at the Fastitocalon-F. The training center's air darkened as a brilliant beam of frozen light spring from Rinoa's palm, transfixing the fishlike monster. To everyone amazement, the Fastitocalon-F simply evaporated in the brilliant beam. One second it was there, then in the next, nothing. The beam faded, leaving ghostly impressions on everyone's retinas. However, Rinoa was not finished. She raised her right hand as Squall had seen Edea do when she still possessed the powers of a sorceress. Rinoa pointed at the remaining fin. A cloud of dust flew into the air as a crater appeared where the Fastitocalon-F had been a moment ago. At the same instant, everyone in the party but Rinoa stumbled as the shockwave from the massive astral punch rolled under their feet.

Rinoa slowly lowered her right arm, looking at it as if it belonged to another, as if she had never seen it before. She was turned so that none present could see the look on her face, but as she lowered her arms to her side, they saw her shoulders pull back as she drew in a long breath, tilting her head upward. Then she turned back to the group, a look of contrition on her face. 

Everyone—except Xu—simply stood and stared. When had Rinoa's magic become so powerful? Squall reflected that they hadn't really had time to gauge the effectiveness of their attacks the last time they had been together in combat, as they had been fighting for their lives against the sorceress Ultimecia. Had he seen Rinoa fight between then and the defeat of Adel? He shook his head. Yes, they had fought together in Ultimecia's castle, but their magic had been sealed until they defeated an evil pseudo-GF, deep within that cursed place. He shrugged.

"I-I'm sorry." Rinoa said, twisting one foot back and forth. "I guess I got a little carried away…"

"No, you did well." Xu said, finishing up her notes. "Ok, I've seen enough. I'll submit my report, though obviously, for all of you, fighting these monsters is just a waste of time. You all should hear about any rank reassignments within the week." 

The group shuffled out through the massive steel doors that separated the training center from the rest of the garden. "Zell, Selphie, Irvine, we'll be arriving at Balamb soon, so I want you to change and assist with the anchoring of the garden. Meet at the main gate in…" She paused and looked down at her wrist chronometer. "…ten minutes." 

"Right." Said Zell, and headed off down the hallway.

"Sure thing, Xu." Selphie nodded. "C'mon Irvine."

Squall noted the flicker of concern that flitted across Rinoa's features. _They all don't know what to say. Maybe I should have held back a little… _Rinoa sighed at the thought. 

Xu turned to the remaining three. "Squall, Headmaster Cid is planning to go ashore immediately upon landing, he has requested that you join him."

_Couldn't he just order it? I am still a SeeD, after all._ Squall nodded.

"Quistis, I believe the educational reviews committee is meeting in a few minutes in room 212. They've asked you to attend." Xu smiled. "Something about your instructor's license, I believe." 

Quistis put a hand to her mouth. "Really!" 

"Yes, sorry to tell you on such short notice, but I didn't want to break your concentration." Xu said. "Dismissed."

Quistis saluted, and then did her best not to race down the hall, toward the elevator.

Turning to Rinoa, Xu said, "Rinoa, if you don't have any objections, there are a few simple tests on file that might help you understand some of your new abilities better…" She smiled as Rinoa nodded. "Ok, if you're willing… Oh yes, Edea also requested to be present if you wanted to run through them." 

Rinoa nodded again, "I'd like that." 

"Ok, excellent." Turning, she paused. "Oh, sorry, Squall. Dismissed." 

Squall was about to nod and depart, but something in Rinoa's expression stopped him. Not for the first time, he felt torn between his duties as a SeeD, and his commitment to Rinoa. He did not move.

Xu's eyebrows lowered. She opened her mouth to say something.

Before she could, Rinoa spoke up. "Xu, if it's ok with you, I would like Squall to come with us…" Xu's expression darkened just a hair at this breach of protocol. "…at least until he has to go escort Cid." Rinoa added.

Xu thought for a moment. "Ok, I don't see why not." She shrugged.

Rinoa shot Squall a relieved little smile—which pretty much embodied how Squall felt as well.

As they trailed Xu, Rinoa's hand slipped into Squall's again. His brow furrowed, this was a pretty blunt breach of some student/SeeD behavioral code, but… _Her hand is so cold… these things must really frightening for her. _He held on.

After they met up with Edea, Rinoa proceeded to run through a series of tests that meant nothing to Squall. He couldn't make the connection between sorcery and some of the things Xu and Edea asked Rinoa to do, but then again, he shrugged, he wasn't a sorceress. 

The PA system chimed and the headmaster's voice filled the rooms of the garden. "We're moving into position to anchor the garden off of Balamb's coast. The engines will be powered down shortly. We shouldn't feel any real disturbance, but I would like all construction teams to stop activity until we've secured the garden." 

Squall looked over at Rinoa. 

She smiled and nodded, seeming a bit more relaxed. "It's ok, Squall. I'll be fine here with Edea and Xu. You can go." 

Squall smiled back at her, but inwardly he cringed at the expression he knew would be on Xu's face—currently out not visible to Squall. He turned to face the three women, saluted, and made his way to the bridge.

He met the headmaster as Cid was stepping off the elevator. "Ah, Squall, excellent. Glad you could make it." Cid clapped his hands. "Well, shall we go ashore?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

A few minutes later they were aboard one of the medium-sized marine assault craft that the garden used to deploy forces around the world. Squall stood behind the heavy-caliber machine gun mounted in the bow of the watercraft, a bit nervous over the Headmaster's apparent disregard for his own safety as he leaned over the side, peering ahead toward the City's small harbor. Squall scanned the approaching rooflines and the shore for any suspicious activity, but knew that he would likely not be able to spot a rooftop sniper, or someone skulking among the docks with a shoulder-mounted missile. 

Balamb was supposed to be a friendly port, but the garden had received no word from the advance guard that was supposed to have prepared the city for the garden's return. Neither the minisub team, nor the landing craft team had made contact with the initial security squad. They were not under orders to do so, and so had not pursued the matter but rather focused on the completion of their own missions. Squall shrugged. _Just like I would've done._

As the landing craft slowed, drifting between the breakwaters at the harbor entrance, Squall again shouted to the headmaster over the idling engines. "Maybe you should go below for landing, Sir." 

Enjoying the salty breeze and pleasant sun as he was, Cid apparently didn't give much regard to Squall's advice. "Nonsense." He waved a hand dismissively.

Squall didn't like it. The last time he had seen Balamb City, it had been under Galbadian occupation. The Galbadians would be fools to pull out of town lock, stock, and barrel, without leaving a few agents—or sappers—around. Squall grimaced, if there was anything that Galbadian military operations weren't, it was stupid. 

As the troop transport nosed up to an unoccupied pier, a small crowd was gathering to gawk at the new arrivals. Squall scanned them nervously, just because he didn't see any signs of weapons, didn't mean they weren't there. Turning to address the Headmaster again, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, a tall figure, clad in a dingy cream trench coat was shoving his way through the crowd, trailed by a heavily-muscled, bare-chested man and a blue-coated woman with a black patch over one eye.

_Seifer! _For the briefest instant, Squall was frozen by the sight of the former commander of the Galbadian military and knight of the sorceress Ultimecia. The instant snapped and Squall shouted. "Headmaster! Get DOWN!" He threw himself behind the blast shielding of the deck cannon and yanked down the master arming-lever. With a whir of servomotors, the gun turret powered up on its hydraulics. Squall was already aligning the weapon's sights on the tall figure of his archenemy. _Archenemy? Seifer? _What Seifer had done… _yes, he is my enemy. _Squall flipped the safety cover off the cannon's trigger and paused. "Damn!" The crowd milling around the docks blocked his line of fire. No matter how much he might want to, he couldn't just open fire into a group of unarmed civilians.

Meanwhile, Cid, seemingly unaware of the danger, was making his way down a landing ramp extended by some willing hands on the dock. _What is wrong with the headmaster!? Am I the only one who hasn't gone insane here?_ With a quiet curse, Squall snapped off the power to the gun turret, and dashed to the railing of the upper deck. He saw that—unless he acted immediately—Seifer and his group would reach the headmaster before he could. Squall gathered himself, and sprang from the deck of the assault craft. Below him, a few unlucky souls dove out of the way as he landed heavily on the dock, falling to one knee. The crowd backed away a bit as Seifer, Raijin, and Fujin appeared in front of Squall. 

Squall straightened, drawing his gunblade as he did so. Seifer stopped a few feet in front of him and regarded Squall. Suddenly four hooded figures in the frontline of the crowd threw off the cheap robes they had been wearing as disguises. The four SeeDs jumped Seifer's group from behind, one pinning Seifer's arms behind his back, another doing the same to Fujin, two more each grabbed one of Raijin's arms apiece. _The advance guard! _

Raijin bellowed and tried to break free of the two SeeDs holding him. 

"Raijin, no." Seifer shook his head once.

"Protect the headmaster!" The SeeD holding Fujin shouted to Squall. Squall turned, realizing that Cid had come up behind him by this time. "Come on, Sir! We've got to get you out of here!" Squall said urgently, grabbing the headmaster's arm. 

Cid shook him off. "Nonsense." Turning to the SeeDs holding Seifer's group he said. "Release them."

Squall stared at the headmaster with undisguised incredulity. _What?!_

"What?!" Shouted the SeeD holding Seifer. "Sir, you can't—"

"SeeD 1159, release that man at once, and withdraw!" Cid glowered at him.

Sharing worried glances, the four SeeDs let go their captives and slowly backed away.

Seifer made motions of dusting himself off. "Well, headmaster, not quite the reception I was hoping for…" 

Now it was Seifer Squall stared at incredulously. _I know he's conceited, but who the hell does he think he is—after all that…to…_

Further increasing Squall's consternation, Cid spread his hands in a gesture of apology. "You'll have to excuse them, we didn't expect to find you here."

"Still, not the behavior I'd expect from a group of SeeDs—but then again I guess they are only SeeDs." Seifer said haughtily. 

Had he not been so confused, Squall would have bristled at that remark.

Seifer turned to address Squall. "Oh, don't look so pathetic, Squall. And put away that silly toy." He indicated Squall's gunblade with a dismissive wave.

_I'll be damned if I'll ever take orders from you again. _Squall didn't move.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Do it, Squall." It was the headmaster. 

Glaring poison daggers at Seifer, Squall—with extreme reluctance—sheathed his weapon.

Cid said. "So, I assume you've taken up residence in Balamb?" 

"For the time being." Seifer indicated the crowd—which had grown substantially since their arrival. "You'd be surprised at how grateful people are to the philanthropist who kept those bloodthirsty Galbadians leashed from burning their town." 

Squall's teeth ground together. 

"So, Cid, want to discuss these things in a more—" Seifer again looked over the crowd. "—private setting?"

_No. No way Seifer, we're not buying it. I don't know what the headmaster has planned, but…_

"Certainly, just give me a moment to square away my escort…" Cid turned to Squall.

_Oh, no WAY!! You can't be serious, headmaster._

"Squall, I want you to return to the garden. Inform Xu of the situation here, and tell her that I've given the ok to begin our rotating provisions schedule and ferry transfer." 

_And leave you in Seifer's clutches? Oh yeah, that's gonna happen. _Squall didn't move, he was staring at Seifer who was conferring with his comrades. _God, I never realized how much I hate that bastard! _Squall had put him out of his mind ever since their last battle aboard the Lunatic Pandora—so much had happened after that, it had been easy.

"Squall! Did you hear me?" Cid demanded.

"Yes, Sir."

"And…?"

"Sir, I must insist—I cannot consider my escort duty complete…" _…as long as HE's around._

The headmaster's eyes narrowed—Squall believed it was nearly the angriest he had ever seen Cid. "Listen up, SeeD. That wasn't a request, it was a direct order from your commanding officer." Cid said angrily and quietly. "Now get back aboard that transport, and carry out your orders, dammit." 

Squall felt his emotions roiling. "Sir, I—" He finally clamped down his standard lid over them. Squall saluted. "Yes, Sir!" 

"Good." Cid's tone softened a bit as he whispered. "Don't worry, I'll be fine, I know how to deal with Seifer." He said loudly. "Dismissed."

Back aboard the transport, the SeeDs of the expeditionary force below, Squall watched Seifer, Raijin, Fujin, and headmaster Cid make their way up the road into the city center until they disappeared around a corner as the watercraft passed through the entrance to the harbor. _'I know how to deal with Seifer' ? _Squall sighed. _I hope to God you're right about that, headmaster, because I sure as hell don't. _

[Chapter 2][5]

   [1]: mailto:sponger42@yahoo.com
   [2]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/main1.htm
   [3]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Gallery/c1.htm
   [4]: \Gallery\c01p01.htm
   [5]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuiersf/a1/Chapters/two.htm



	2. Terga Dare

** **

**Chapter 2: Terga Dare**

** **

** **

True to his word, the headmaster returned later that afternoon aboard one of the rotating ferries transporting various teams of students and staff between the garden and Balamb with the news from abroad.

As expected, Galbadia had withdrawn its forces from all points around the world, and was trying desperately to keep from descending into chaotic civil war. The Lunatic Pandora had been removed from Esthar airspace and returned to Galbadia. However, attempting to ensure against a second Lunar Cry, the Esthar military had tried to seize the Lunatic Pandora using their newly re-discovered Ragnarok. The assault had failed, and Ragnarok had been heavily damaged in the withdrawal. Word was it was being repaired and re-equipped at the Lunar Launch Facilities in Esthar. No one knew where the Galbadians were hiding the mountain-sized Lunatic Pandora, but Esthar had been making noises about hiring a SeeD assault force to attempt a second seizure of the ancient flying artifact. 

Meanwhile, in the absence of the jamming that had caused a worldwide radio transmission blackout for the past 17 years, old broadcast equipment was being dusted off and put into use around the world. Of greatest interest—especially to Rinoa—was a powerful station broadcasting from within the Galbadian occupied zone, Timber. The station was being run by a conglomeration of resistance groups and broadcast their 'Radio Free Timber' and 'Independent Timber Television' signal almost around the clock. One broadcast had continued right through a Galbadian bombing raid on the station, the commentators never leaving their posts as powerful bomb blasts had shaken the studio. Dozens of revolutionary groups around Galbadia were imitating the actions of RFT/ITT and new anti-government stations were popping up faster than the Galbadian military and police could shut them down. 

A group of students was hard at work repairing the garden's own radio antennae so that the garden would be able to receive world news firsthand.

In light of the new developments, Galbadia had begun making overtures towards a peace settlement between itself, Esthar, and Balamb Garden. No concrete evidence that Galbadia was willing to parlay yet existed, but it was evident that the Galbadian's hard-line policies were beginning to crack from internal sociopolitical pressures.

All of this, Squall had listened to impassively, his face set in a stony mask devoid of any expression. 

Later, as Squall stood on the second floor observation deck, watching heavy, purple-bellied storm clouds blow in from the south on an oppressively humid wind, Rinoa appeared beside him. 

"So…" She sighed. "Seifer's here, in Balamb." 

"Yes." 

"How do you feel about that?" _I should know better than to ask Squall that question by now._ Rhinoa turned to look out at the gathering storm. 

The dark underside of a cloud flickered with lightning. A few moments later the sound of far-off thunder rolled over the darkening water. "It's not… not really Seifer that bothers me." Squall inhaled a breath of brine-tinged air. 

"No?" 

"I do hate him, yes. After what he's done, I can't…" Squall paused. "…I can't find it in myself to forgive him…"

"But that's just what the Headmaster told—no…" Rinoa corrected herself. "…ordered everyone to do."

"Yes."

"And that's what's bothering you." Rinoa looked down to her side. 

"If it were just Seifer, I could deal with that. I know how I feel, and I know what to do…" Squall's jaw tightened.

"…but when you're ordered to just move on…forget about everything that's happened and act…" Rinoa trailed off.

"…like a SeeD." Squall finished. He slammed a palm down on the railing. "Dammit! I know the headmaster said that's what everyone had to do for Edea as well, but that's different. She was possessed, she had no choice—no control over her actions."

Another, louder, rumble. "Are you so sure that Seifer did?" Rinoa asked quietly, her head lowered. 

Squall turned toward her. He saw another flash of blue lightning reflect off of Rinoa's long, dark hair. A loud crash of thunder caused her to start slightly. Squall remembered the way he had acted the night before, the way he had felt in the training center. _No… No I'm not sure._

Rinoa looked up. "We should go in, a storm is coming."

As they walked down the second floor hallway together, the first fat, warm drops of rain from the approaching storm spattered against the high-set windows. Classes were over for the day, and the hallway was dimmed for the night.Afternoon had long since given way to evening, but the hall was still uncharacteristically devoid of students, everyone apparently having gone to train, study, or relax in the respective sections of the garden in the few hours remaining before curfew. A flash from outside lended bright illumination to the hallway, accompanied by a muffled peal of thunder. 

"Squall?"

"Yes?" Squall noted that the storm had started in earnest now, sheets of rain pelting against the glass.

"I want to go back to Timber." Rinoa said.

Squall was silent for a moment. "Alright." He said, at length.

"I was wondering if you…" Rinoa shuffled her feet a bit. "…I wanted…"

"I'll ask the headmaster for permission for a leave tomorrow morning." Squall knew what she had wanted to say.

Rinoa hugged him from the side. "Thank you." Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, and she let go. "What if he says no?"

Squall stopped and turned to Rinoa. "I'm coming with you to Timber." 

Rinoa made as if to hug Squall again, then another thought occurred to her. As she pulled him close, she turned her face up to his. They stood there, noses nearly touching on a knife-edged moment. Embarrassed, Squall pulled away—or at least he would have, had Rinoa not realized what he was planning and raised herself up on tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. Before he knew was consciously aware of what he was doing, Squall's right arm had slid under Rinoa's, his hand lost in a cascade of dark brown hair, his left arm wrapped around her back, left hand resting on her waist. Eyes closed they kissed for the merest fraction of eternity before Squall, remembering himself, gently pulled away. He tried his hardest to banish the horrible horrible expression of giddy happiness he knew must be manifesting itself on his features, but he needn't have bothered. Embarrassed, Rinoa was staring down at the floor.

"Uh…" Squall was at a loss for a moment. "That wasn't the reason why I said that." _Oh yeah, real smooth, Romeo _Squall could've smacked himself._You never say enough when you're supposed to be talking, and then you talk too much when you should just shut up._

Rinoa's head came up, but instead of wearing an expression of annoyance, to Squall's relief, she merely laughed at him—as if she had known all along what he would say. "I know THAT!" She gave him a shove. 

Squall raised his hands in surrender and—wisely—kept his mouth shut.

A sparkle appeared in Rinoa's eye as she playfully batted at his head. "What kind of girl do you think I am?" She continued her mock-assault as Squall, arms protecting his head, backed into the elevator. Stepping back, Rinoa regarded him with an impish smile. "What, are you complaining?"

Squall, mute, shook his head and cowered before the happy wrath of the sorceress, punching the button for the first floor.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.

"Holy cow!" Zell exclaimed. "Was Squall SMILING just now?!" 

Selphie, Quistis, and Irvine, clustered around the elevator doors, turned to face the emerging SeeD and sorceress. 

"No." Squall said.

Everyone laughed. 

Irvine took Squall aside. "Heh heh, we told everybody the top floor was closed for fumigation." He said under his breath. "So you two could get some 'quality time' together." 

Squall placed a hand on his face. _This guy has a one-track mind._ "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem, partner." Irvine grinned and blew imaginary smoke from an imaginary six-gun. 

Squall rolled his eyes, and they rejoined the rest of the group. Zell was explaining—to Rinoa—his ideas regarding the action the garden should take with respect to Galbadia quite animatedly. 

"Yeah, see. We drop a couple of SeeD teams in Galbadia, stir up trouble right? Then when the Galbadian army is busy running around the countryside trying to put down all these revolutions, we sail the garden right in to Deling city and POW!" Zell jabbed the air. "Now we control the capital. Then we can tell the Galbadians just where to shove it! We can dictate terms of the peace, you know?"

"Ah, you just wanna cause some havoc." Selphie said.

Zell grinned and smacked his fist into his palm. "That's right, baby! I wanna get some ACTION!"

"You're going to get your wish." Squall said evenly.

"Huh?" Zell turned toward Squall, as did the rest of the group.

"We're going to Timber." Squall paused. "Or at least Zell, Selphie, Rinoa, and I are."

"Alright!" Zell exclaimed.

"Did you hear this from the headmaster, Squall?" Quistis asked.

"No." Squall paused as everyone turned again to stare. "Don't forget, we're still under contract to the Forest Owls." He clarified. 

"Oh yeah! I almost forgot about that." Selphie said. "What did our contract say again? …until Timber gains its independence, or something like that.

"Things are heating up over there, and we have a job to do." Squall continued. "I'm going to go talk to the headmaster about it right now." He stopped and looked at Rinoa, who smiled back at him. "Get your gear together and be ready to leave tomorrow morning." He finished.

"Roger that!" Zell gave an excited salute and dashed off toward the dormitory. 

"Ok, Squall." Selphie said. "Come on, Irvine, you can help me pack." 

"Darlin', I can hardly wait." Irvine drawled.

"Come in." 

At this, Squall entered the headmaster's office by way of the wooden double-doors that opened from the hallway. 

"Ah, Squall, good to see you." The headmaster rose from behind a paper-covered desk that had been brought up from storage. "What can I do for you?"

Squall fought back a sigh. He had hoped the headmaster would treat him in a more formal manner—it would have made this a lot easier. "Sir, I am requesting permission to leave for Timber tomorrow morning."

The headmaster looked a bit confused. "Uh… Timber? Tomorrow?" He thought for a moment, then frowned. "Hm… I'm sorry, Squall, but now isn't the best time for a vacation. Perhaps in a couple of weeks."

_Well, he's not going to make this easy for me._ "Sir, this is not a request for a personal leave. I must remind you that SeeD is still under contract to the Forest Owls to provide assistance in any way possible to the re-establishment of Timber's independence." 

Cid smacked a hand to his forehead. "Oh! Of course! I'm sorry, Squall, I had totally forgotten about that." The headmaster frowned. "Hm… but that still doesn't change our situation here…" He regarded Squall. "This was Rinoa's idea, wasn't it?"

Squall sighed inwardly at this. _Sir, I really don't want to go head-to head over this…_ "Yes, Sir, regardless of that fact—"

"—SeeD must honor its contracts. Of course, Squall, I don't need to be reminded of that. I did found this institution after all." Cid displayed just the slightest bit of pique. "Very well." He sighed. "Let's see, it was you, Selphie, and Zell who were assigned that mission, right?" 

"Yes, Sir." Squall decided to push his luck just a bit. "Sir, Irvine Kinneas may request to assist with the mission…"

"Squall, shall I just send the entire Garden?" The headmaster said sarcastically.

"No, Sir, but Mr. Kinneas would be a valuable addition to the team—and perhaps allow us to complete the mission and return sooner." Squall waited.

Breaking the tension, the headmaster laughed. "Maybe you should be a politician, Mr. Leonhart." He thought for a moment. "Well, Mr. Kinneas isn't officially a member of this garden, so if he wanted to go, I suppose I'd have no choice but to allow it." Cid shrugged. 

"Thank you Sir. We will complete the mission with all possible speed." Squall said.

"I expect nothing less." Cid said. "Well then, Mr. Leonhart, permission granted. Speak with the master of stores before you leave, would you? There's some new equipment we're fitting out our SeeD teams with nowadays."

"Sir." Squall saluted. _Well, that wasn't so bad._

"Godspeed, Squall. Dismissed."

As the elevator doors opened to the first floor, Quistis greeted Squall with a nod of her head. "So Cid gave the go-ahead?"

Squall nodded. Outside, a long muffled peal of thunder sounded across the sky, vibrating loose objects inside the garden in sympathetic harmony. Massive though it was, the garden still rocked ever so slightly in the swell kicked up by the storm. 

"It's going to be lonely here, with all you guys gone off on assignment." Quistis sighed.

"So what did the review board have to say?" Squall said, changing the subject.

Quistis shuffled her feet. "Well, they returned my instructor's license."

"That's great." Squall said, even though he could tell by Quistis's expression that it wasn't.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's just that…" She trailed off.

Squall was silent. Another flash of lightning strobed from the small windows set high in the garden's main hall. 

Remembering that it was Squall she was talking to, Quistis continued. "It's just—I know they wouldn't have returned my license if the garden weren't so short-handed right now. And so…" She trailed off again.

This time Squall took the initiative. "Did you really believe them?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you really believe what they said about you when they took your license away." Squall clarified.

Quistis looked down. "I… I don't know." She looked up at Squall. "Did you?"

Squall shrugged. "What I think isn't important." _Hm… maybe that wasn't the best response…_

__"I guess not… I mean, I guess I didn't think they were right." Quistis said at length. 

"Then this is your chance to prove it." Squall said and turned toward he dormitory.

He had only gone a few steps when Quistis called. "Squall." He turned. "Be careful." Quistis said.

Squall nodded, and returned to his room.

A tiny point of electric-blue light floated in the darkness. Below it, a long, sharp-nailed finger appeared. The finger gave way to a hand. An arm emerged from the nothingness, wrapped in a sleeve decorated with strange symbols and markings. Suddenly the rest of the sorceress Edea appeared along with the parade float, ornamented dancers, crowd, and all of Deling City. Rinoa wanted to scream, to throw her arms out, to do anything to warn Squall of what was happening, but she could only watch in horror as from the tiny sparkling star emerged a dozen pointy, twisted glacial spikes. Again, the sorceress pointed at Rinoa, Squall and Irvine, again, Rinoa felt the frozen breath of the sorceress's missiles brush by her as she flinched away from the attack. Rinoa tried desperately to scream, to cover her eyes, to do anything but turn and face her nightmare again. Inexorably, like the turning of the tides, she felt her eyes drawn to the sight of—-

—Rinoa gasped as a cold wet nose poked the side of her neck. A worried pair of canine eyes looked down at her. Rinoa wrapped her arms around Angelo's neck and hugged the startled dog. "Oh, thank you, Angelo, you're always getting me out of trouble."Angelo took this as a good sign and gave Rinoa's face a relieved lick. "Aack! Ok! Ok! Sorry for waking you up." Rinoa pushed Angelo's face away to avoid any further standard comforting doggie ministrations. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat up.

Angelo whined softly.

Turning, Rinoa patted his head. "No, I'm ok now, boy. Go back to sleep." She stood up and walked over to the small adjoining bathroom. "Ick!" She said, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the small sink. Rinoa busied herself washing her face and trying to brush some of the tangles out of her sleep-tousled hair all the while keeping up a quiet monologue with Angelo. It didn't help, but then again, Rinoa hadn't expected it to work any better tonight than it had any other night. Every time she closed her eyes to splash water on her face, she was afraid to open them again though the images that danced across the insides of her eyelids were terribly frightening as well. Better to suffer through the convolutions of the imagination than to risk an encounter with a reality of the same nature—no matter how small the chance…

Angelo's eyes followed Rinoa as she emerged from the bathroom, now fully awake. She addressed the dog. "I know it's silly, but I can't help it." She sighed.

Angelo's ears perked up, he turned his head toward the door. Rinoa put a hand to her mouth, then, as quickly and as she could, she dimmed the room's lights and slipped into bed. Rinoa feigned sleep, but kept one eye open just enough to watch the door. _Is it him out there? Will he come in again? _Rinoa waited barely daring to breathe. "Oh please come in, Squall." She whispered.

After a few moments of silence Angelo lowered his head and Rinoa's hopes faded. After a few more moments, she got up again. She shivered at the darkness and turned the lights back up, banishing the things that lurk in the corner of your eyes in the dimness. Head on paws, Angelo watched as Rinoa paced up to the door, then back the length of the room. _He's ok. He's asleep in his room. I don't need to go look, I couldn't get in anyway—I can't open the lock. _She paused, her hand at the door controls. "He'd just be annoyed." She sat down, back against the door. "He's ok." Angelo closed his eyes, he wasn't the one who needed convincing. 

On the other side of the room's door, for the seventh time, Squall forced himself not to rise and key the lock open. _I'm sure she's fine. I can't keep going into her room in the middle of the night... _…but neither could he return to his own room. Sick with indecision, Squall slowly nodded off and a troubled slumber replaced his troubled wakefulness. Soon after, a few inches of metal and air away, Rinoa followed suit.

A few hours later, Squall awoke at the first stirrings of the early-risers among those lodged in the garden's dormitories. Feeling foolish, he scuttled back to his own room before he was discovered.

Not too much later that morning, Squall stood on the gunnery deck of one of the marine landing craft that Balamb Garden was using as ferries to Balamb City. The brilliant white ocean sunrise behind him flung the vessel's shadow far ahead across the sparkling chop. All traces of last night's storm had been whisked away by the brisk north wind that winnowed its way past the layers of fabric everyone standing on deck wore. Walking up behind Squall, Rinoa wrapped her arms happily around him. 

"Brrr! It's cold up here!" She cried over the thrumming of the engine. 

"We could go below." Squall replied. 

"No, that's ok. I like this." Rinoa squeezed Squall and ducked, using him as a windbreak.

Out of the corner of his eye, Squall watched as Irvine attempted the same trick on Selphie, and received a semi-playful smack for his troubles. Irvine's mouth moved as he raised his arms in self-defense, but the wind whipping over the deck carried the sound of his voice away from Squall.

Squall felt the pressure of Rinoa's arms lessen as she released him. He turned to find her engaged in conversation with a weary-looking Zell. "Yeah! It took me most of the night to finish, but I figured I'd better get it done while I had access to the garden's metalworking equipment." Zell was shouting to be heard over the rushing wind and noisy engine. It took Squall a moment before he realized Zell was talking about his ring—the ring Zell had acquired off of Squall at Rinoa's behest during the Galbadian attack on Balamb Garden.

Zell proffered a hand. Sure enough, in it was an identical replica of Squall's ring. "Oops! Looks like I got a little grease on it. Just a sec." Holding the ring between his thumb and forefinger, he attempted to polish it on his pant leg. Unfortunately, the combination of fingers numb from the cold, lack of sleep, and lubricant on the ring caused Zell to lose his grip on the metal circlet. It bounced off the metal decking and began rolling toward the side of the ship. 

"AW CRAP!!" Zell shouted, and dove for the ring. Rather than retrieving it, Zell instead managed to provide the ring additional impetus toward the edge of the deck with his uncoordinated grab. "Shit!!" The curse did nothing to prevent the inevitable, and over the side the ring went.

From his prone position, Zell pounded a fist into the decking. "DAMMIT!!" He paused, mid-tantrum, awestruck, as the ring floated back up in front of his face. "What the…?"

Beside Squall, Rinoa stood with her left arm outstretched. She made a slight beckoning motion, and the ring floated over the amazed Zell and into her hand. A strange, far-away look was in her eyes. The moment her hand closed around the ring, the look disappeared. 

"Woa! Cool! Damn! I wanna be a sorceress!" Zell exclaimed, getting to his feet. 

Irvine, who had wandered over, patted Zell on the head. "And when you grow up, I'm sure you'll make a mighty fine one." He dodged an armored backhand swipe, chuckling. 

"Oh, thank you Zell." Rinoa said, managing to distract the SeeD from any further violence. "It's perfect!" Tucking the ring away in a pocket she turned to Squall. "I'll hold on to it until we get somewhere where it's not likely to get lost." 

Squall nodded once. 

The group landed at Balamb City without further incident and—to Squall's relief—without sighting Seifer or his posse. After a short walk—punctuated by an abbreviated stop at Zell's foster parents' home the group boarded a nearly empty train headed for Timber. News of the growing conflict in Timber was apparently discouraging all but the hardiest travelers. 

Once aboard the train, the four SeeDs and one sorceress set about making themselves comfortable in the private cabin they had managed to reserve. Irvine, stretching languorously lay down across one of the cabin's couches and attempted to rest his head in Selphie's lap. She promptly shoved Irvine's head—hat and all—onto the floor, the rest of the SeeD's lanky body followed soon thereafter with a loud thump. 

Zell found this uproariously funny, which, of course, Irvine took exception to, and Squall began to wish he hadn't made the special request for Irvine's assistance from the headmaster. 

"So, Rinoa, what's the plan once we get to Timber?" Selphie asked. 

At this, Rinoa looked slightly embarrassed. "Um… well, I'm not exactly sure yet."

"Uh boy, does this sound familiar to anyone else?" Zell piped up.

Squall shot him an irritated look. "Information on Timber has been sketchy at best. We can't expect to come up with a plan without knowing what's going on, first." 

"Woa! Sorry man, just asking." Zell raised his hands.

"I guess we'll just have to see what's going on once we get there, then we'll decide on what we need to do." Rinoa shrugged "It's worked before."

Some time later, the group was suddenly thrown from their seats as a violent shudder passed through the passenger car. From the floor, Squall heard the grinding scream of steel on steel as the train's emergency brakes locked its wheels in an attempt to slow the giant vehicle. 

"What's going on?!" Selphie shouted over the racket.

"I think this is our stop darlin'." Irvine struggled to his feet.

"Everybody to the rear of the train." Squall instructed, helping Rinoa to her feet as the floor rocked under them. 

The car was still shaking under the deceleration when Zell reached the door of the rear car. It slid open obligingly and the SeeD immediately stuck his head out the opening. Judging the train's speed, he immediately leapt from the moving car, landing in a sprint to keep from falling head over heels. Irvine—who was next, chose instead to wait the seventeen seconds for the train to grind to a complete halt before hopping onto the sharp gravel of the railroad bed. He turned to assist Selphie and then Rinoa as they exited the train. Squall landed on the ground at the same time as Zell reached the group, huffing and puffing from his run. 

"Well, looks like the end of the line." Irvine observed, arms akimbo. 

Ahead of the group, the arrow-straight line of the railroad track was abruptly punctuated by a deep, still-smoking bomb crater. Beyond that, on the horizon, the outline of the rooftops of Timber City could be seen. Behind them, thick black clouds of smoke rose into the calm noon air, billowing from a dozen different sources from within the town.

A conductor poked his head out the door. "No more trains outta Timber, you folks sure you wanna stick around?" But the four SeeDs and one sorceress were already out of earshot and jogging toward the burning town.

As the group made their way past the outskirts of Timber, they passed dozens of burnt-out shells of devastated homes and stores. 

Zell shook his head. "Man, look at this place. What a mess!"

Rinoa looked about the deserted street worriedly. "Where is everyone?"

The answer came as the group approached a line of rubble blocking the road into the city center. "Halt! Who goes there."

Quite a prosaic line, Squall reflected, stepping forward, inconspicuously trying to place himself between Rinoa and the parts of the barrier most likely to contain snipers. "We are SeeDs of the Timber Squad." 

"Mercenaries! Who hired you?!" Squall heard the edge of edge of fear creeping into the man's voice. He tried to cast about for Irvine, but the Galbadian sharpshooter was way ahead of him, as he slowly tilted his chin toward the location of the speaker, bringing his weapon up ever so slowly. Discreetly, Squall signaled him to hold fire for the time being. 

"Rinoa Heartilly, of the Forrest Owls." Rinoa piped up as she tried to shove her way past Squall. 

"Yeah right! Prove it!" 

"I'm right here!" Rinoa shouted as she finally succeeded.

"I see right though that disguise! Prepare to die, Galbadian sc—"

"Irvine!" Squall shouted, but Irvine, again, was one step ahead. 

The Exeter barked once.

"NO!!"Rinoa shouted. 

Before she could finish even the one syllable word, Squall, Zell, and Selphie were over the top of the barricade and upon their startled victim. His weapon—knocked clear by Irvine's shot—hit the ground at the same time as Zell locked both the man's arms behind him. Squall and Selphie became superfluous at that point. 

"You killed him!" Rinoa cried as she surmounted the makeshift barricade. She fell silent as she beheld the sight on the other side. 

"No mam." Irvine said, tipping his hat with the barrel of the Exeter. "Just scared him a little, that's all." He grinned.

"Holy shit! You son of a bitch! You could've killed me!!" The sentry found his voice.

"That's right. I could've." Irvine drawled.

Squall stepped up to the restrained man. "We are SeeDs from Balamb Garden. We're here to help." 

"I-I don't believe you!" 

"Would it help to convince you if I had him break your arms?" Squall indicated Zell with a nod. Zell grinned and gave an experimental tug. 

"Owowowow! Ok! Ok! Alright! I believe you! What do you want?!" The sentry cried. Rinoa looked aghast. 

"Take us to your leader." Squall said.

Selphie giggled and made little antennae out of her fingers, wiggling them above her head.

Squall rolled his eyes as Zell released the sentry. Rubbing his wrists where Zell had held him, the man started off toward the center of town. As the group proceeded toward Timber's railroad Depot, they drew stares from the town's ragged-looking defenders, most of whom were lounging in doorways smoking, or idly playing with their assortment of outmoded weaponry. Squall's eyes narrowed in tacit disapproval but he kept his comments to himself. 

Zell wasn't quite so restrained. "These are the mighty Timber revolutionaries?" He snorted.

Unfortunately, one of the said resistance members heard him. Shifting himself from the bullet-pocked wall against which he had been resting, the man stepped directly into Zell's path, he placed a palm squarely on Zell's chest. "Yeah, we are." He gave Zell a shove backwards. "You got a problem with that, little boy?" 

For a moment it looked as if Zell would lose his balance, but instead, the SeeD sprang forward, drawing an armor-clad fist back, preparing to strike "Yeah, I do." 

Bedraggled, the resistance fighter might have been, but slow, he was not. He snapped a short rifle up from his side with surprising speed, leveling the weapon at Zell. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…" Came a slow, even drawl, as the muzzle of Irvine's Exeter brushed the revolutionary's ear. 

"SeeDs! Stand down!" Squall growled. 

Reluctantly, Zell lowered his fists and backed away from the man as Irvine holstered his gun. 

Turning to the armed man, Squall frowned. "Excuse us." He said, and motioned for their reluctant guide to continue.

The sentry looked disappointed. No doubt he wouldn't have minded seeing the SeeDs forced into a fight here, where they were surrounded and outnumbered. Instead, the other freedom fighters resumed whatever they had been doing before the confrontation. 

Zell shoved past the man as the group continued on.

Finally, the group arrived in front of the seedy little tavern Squall remembered from his last visit to Timber. "She's in there." The sentry motioned with his head. "But don't even think about trying anything funny." 

"This is your headquarters?" Selphie asked.

"Yeah," answered one of the guards standing in front of the entrance. "What did you expect? A big flashy building with dozens of communications dishes sticking out of it and 'TIMBER RESISTANCE HQ' painted on the roof?" 

Squall nodded. _Makes sense. This place is pretty unobtrusive, no point in painting a bulls-eye for Galbadian air raiders. _

Their guide turned to the guard. "These people say they're SeeDs from Balamb Garden. Say they're working for the 'Forrest Owls', but I don't trust 'em. They tried to shoot me." He whined.

The second guard laughed. "I can't think of a person here who wouldn't want to do that, Nicholas." He eyed the group. "By the looks of 'em, I'd say if they wanted to punch your ticket, we'd have one less trigger-happy sentry on our hands by now."

Nicholas hrrumphed at that. "I was just doing my job." He turned and stalked off.

The other guard turned to the group. "Haven't heard anything about the Forrest Owls for a while." 

Rinoa stepped forward. "I'm their leader." 

The guard eyed her. Then he nodded. "Yup, I think you look pretty similar to a wanted poster I saw a few months back." He grinned. "Hell of a system, eh? Well, I guess we can let you in, but you're going to have to leave your weapons with us."

Squall nodded, cutting off any complaints from the other SeeDs. 

Surprisingly, the guards allowed them in without a thorough search, taking for granted that they had no hidden armaments of any kind. Squall frowned at that, then he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the bar-turned-revolutionary base. As they entered he heard a startled exclamation from someone inside. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the leader of the Forrest Foxes—an elderly woman named Ferrin —catch Rinoa up in a massive hug. 

"Oh, Rinoa, it's so good to see you." Ferrin said happily. "After you left Timber we heard you had been captured by those damned Galbadians. Everyone here feared the worst." 

"We're all ok, Ferrin. What's been happening here?" Rinoa returned the hug.

"Straight to business, I see you haven't changed any." Ferrin smiled.

Squall raised an eyebrow. 

"Well, we finally did it, dearie. Timber is finally free." Ferrin waved an arm meant to encompass the entire town outside the little tavern. "Four days ago all the resistance groups in Timber rose up in one concerted effort and kicked those Galbadians right out of town." She smiled. "We caught them totally off-guard. During the last few months all the resistance groups went dormant so the Galbadians would think they had finally subdued us. Then, when this whole Ultimecia thing started, they started pulling troops out of the Timber garrison. Once enough of them were gone, we got enough fighters together and drove the remaining reserves clean out of town." She clapped her hands.

"That's wonderful, Ferrin." Rinoa laughed.

"Yes, we could hardly believe it, I think the truth is just starting to sink in for most people here."

"They'll be back." Squall frowned.

"What?" Rinoa and Ferrin said in concert. 

"They'll be back. You can't expect the Galbadians to give up Timber so easily. You need to be ready when they try to retake the town." Squall said.

"We know that." Ferrin looked slightly annoyed. "We've already repulsed two Galbadian attacks. We've fortified and set guards at all the entrances to the city center. We're ready for them when they come."

"Are you really?" Squall tried unsuccessfully to hide the frustration in his voice. "My group and I literally walked in here, no one did anything to stop us. We didn't see any evidence of fortification—except for some bricks thrown across a road and a single incompetent sentry." He saw the hard look that crept into Ferrin's eye, but he couldn't stop himself. "Your 'guards' took our word that we had left all our weapons with them, on the way in, I saw no fallback positions, no strong points, no bunkers, no trenches. I don't think you—" He broke off as Rinoa put a hand on his arm. The look in her eye kept him from continuing. 

Ferrin started to open her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rinoa turned to her. "Ferrin, I'm really sorry, could you excuse us for just a minute?" With an annoyed frown, Ferrin waved them away.

Rinoa cast about for someplace a bit private inside the cramped tavern, but, finding none, settled for dragging Squall into a darkened corner. As he was lead past the group of SeeDs—all of them looking a bit appalled at his outburst—Squall saw Irvine shoot him a knowing 'now you're gonna get it' look.

When they were as far away from the rest of the room's occupants as possible Rinoa turned to Squall. "Just what do you think you are doing?" She hissed, trying to keep her voice down so the others would not hear. 

Squall waved an arm toward the revolutionary leader. "These people don't know what they're doing, just look—"

"These people are my friends! Ever since you guys got here, you've been acting like the brute squad, bullying everybody around, and now you're telling their leader she doesn't know how to fight a revolution. Squall, Ferrin's been fighting for Timber's freedom since before you and I were born!" Rinoa gestured angrily. "All these people are willing to lay down their lives for Timber's independence—and a lot of them already have!"

Squall put a hand to his forehead. _What do you want from me? I'm here to fight for Timber's independence too. _

"Look, I know you want to help." Rinoa's tone softened just the tiniest bit. "But PLEASE, try to give these people a little credit." She waved toward Ferrin. "Listen to what they have to say, ok?"

Squall thought about that for a second, then he nodded. "Alright, I see your point, I'm sorry." 

"Don't tell me, tell her." Rinoa pointed again.

Squall must have grimaced without realizing it. "Look, I don't want things to get off to a bad start here. These people need our help, and it's not going to do any good if the leader of the SeeDs and the leader of the resistance hate each other." The look in Rinoa's eyes was pleading.

Squall sighed. "Alright, I'll apologize." And he turned back to the leader of the Forest Foxes. He saw Irvine mouth the word, 'busted', and grin. Scowling venomously at Irvine, Squall approached Ferrin. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I apologize for my earlier remarks. You people must have been through a lot before we got here, so we'll do our best to help you get through everything that's to come." Inwardly, Squall was grinding his teeth, but he did his best to look apologetic.

Ferrin's look went from poisonous to merely belligerent. "Apology accepted, and I'll thank you to keep that in mind from now on." 

Behind him, Squall heard whispering. "Holy cow!"

" Did you see that?!"

"Did Squall just…"

"Apologize?" 

Squall gritted his teeth and forced himself not to turn around.

"Well then, dearie, I'm not one to hold grudges, so let's move on to other business, shall we?" Ferrin said, brightening.

"Right." Squall said, happy to be let off the hook so easily.

"Ok, as I was about to say, the relative state of unpreparedness you saw is merely a sham, designed to fool the Galbadians into thinking they can take the city from behind…"

Squall listened intently—if with a bit of chagrin—as the leader of Timber's revolutionary forces outlined her defensive strategy. It seemed that they had been fortunate to have acquired a guide from the front lines for their trip through the city, as all of the major routes—and most of the minor ones—into the city had been booby-trapped with all manner of anti-personnel and anti-armor mines, as well as various pitfalls, tripwires and various other instruments of guerilla warfare. There were, indeed, several fall-back points to which the defenders intended to retreat if the city's outer perimeter were breached, and an elaborate network of tunnels—some through the city's sewers, some dug during the period of underground resistance—connected the resistance's strong points and fortified bunkers, all mined of course, should sections of the city fall under Galbadian assault. 

Should the city fall totally under Galbadian occupation again, a secret rail line—also constructed during the occupation would spirit the remaining freedom fighters off into the forests to continue the battle from a dozen different bases. 

"So long as the Galbadian's don't bomb the depot." Squall observed, looking down at the pile of maps and charts laid out on the stained bar surface. 

"Actually, they've bombed the depot into rubble already, but we laid the tracks in such a way as to prevent them from being cut by anything but a direct hit. The line, and the engine we've got switched to it are still ready to go." Ferrin looked smug.

"Very impressive." Squall nodded. "Do you foresee any problems with the plans you've laid out?" 

"Well, the Galbadians could always do something tricky—like something we didn't plan for, but I'm hoping the impression they'll get from their spy flights will make them overconfident and give us the advantage." Ferrin sighed. "Even with all this," she gestured to the maps, "we'll still need it." She paused a moment, then explained. "My people are good at sabotage, we're good a building underground bunkers and mines and tunnels, but on good fighters, I'm coming up short." 

Squall frowned at this. "That could present a problem."

"It's not that they don't want to fight, God bless 'em, it's just that none of us really know how. The Galbadians outlawed anything remotely like weapons training, so all I've got is a buncha kids running around with lots of old guns, and lots of heart." She sighed.

"That's good for getting people killed, and not much else." Squall observed quietly.

"I know, I know." Ferrin looked dejected. "But what can we do? We haven't got time to properly organize everyone, and if we start holding drills outside, the Galbadians'll figure out we're not the pushovers we want 'em to think we are." Before his eyes, the hardened revolutionary in front of Squall transformed into a worried old grandmother. "I'm going to lose a lot of my boys and girls when the shooting starts." 

Unsure of himself, Squall put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll do what we can to make sure that doesn't happen." 

After a bit more discussion, Squall split his group up and sent each individual where he believed they could do the most good. Irvine was to make a circuit of the frontline defenses and make sure everything there was as ready as it could be. He was also instructed to give the sentries there a crash course in sharp shooting. Zell and Selphie were sent to the two main bomb shelters to give the defenders as much instruction in hand-to-hand combat and magic usage as they could absorb in half-hour rotations. Squall accompanied Rinoa on a tour of the fortifications with the ostensible purpose of inspecting the emplacements and boosting morale.

"Oh yeah, Squall's just great at providing inspiration to those with lagging spirits." Irvine observed. Selphie gave him a kick in the shins for his trouble.

"Alright, people." Squall addressed the SeeDs as they prepared to head out. "Stay sharp out there. We don't know when or where the Galbadians are going to hit us." He pulled out the hand-held satellite transceiver he had been issued from the garden upon leaving for the mission. "If anything happens, use these to keep in touch. Standard channel. The Galbadians shouldn't be able to listen in, but just in case, keep radio silence unless it's an emergency." 

Everyone nodded.

"Ok then, if your all ready, lets go underground." Ferrin said asshe depressed a hidden switch under one of the bar's back tables. A section of wall paneling slid back to reveal a set of earthen stairs leading down a rock-walled passageway lit at intervals by bare yellow light bulbs. "Keep your maps handy, and if you get lost, ask someone directions. Pretty much everybody on duty is down here—along with most of the families still living—" Squall noted how she skirted the truth, 'still alive' "—here in Timber, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding your way around."

During his tour of underground Timber, Squall saw both grim veterans of the fighting and fresh-faced youth, eager to get a chance to do their part in defending Timber. He sighed, the grim-faced variety were in depressingly short supply, while there were plenty of greenhorns around every corner. The veterans took Squall and Rinoa's visit for granted—they knew the few words of encouragement offered would do little to stop a bullet or a monster when the fighting broke out. The untested rebels, however, were awestruck. They had heard rumors of the vicious fighting in Esthar and some even knew of the group's journey into the future and their victory over the sorceress Ultimecia. With such powerful warriors on their side, who could hope to prevail against them? 

Squall tried his best to keep his cynicism from showing. _So many kids… _The thought made him frown, he wasn't much—if any—older than all the fighters holed up in Timber. In fact, he was younger than most. _But still… can they handle the pressure? They weren't brought up to fight. How many of them will cut and run when things start to get rough? _

"They've been through a lot already. They'll be ok." Rinoa said to him as they walked down a quiet dirt-walled passageway. She didn't sound convinced.

As they turned a blind corner, Rinoa gasped. "Zone! Watts!" 

The two turned to face her. "Hello, Sir!"

Squall felt the slightest pang of jealousy as Rinoa, Zone, and Watt entangled themselves in a three-person hug. He automatically quashed the feeling. He stood by, impassively as the three went through the perfunctory 'how are yous' and 'how did you get heres'. It seemed someone aboard the white SeeD ship had rigged up a radio receiver shortly after the garden had left. When Zone and Watts heard of the rebellion in Timber, they had convinced the ship's captain to make contact with a fishing trawler from Dollet,by this—and various other means, the two had made their way back to Timber in time to meet Rinoa. 

"After all, we knew you would be coming back here eventually, Sir." Watts said. 

Before Rinoa could reply, a telephone hooked into the rebels' underground communications clanged for attention. Watts naturally picked it up. His face paled as he hung up the receiver. 

"What is it?" Squall asked.

"Air-raid, Sir. Galbadian ground attack aircraft spotted coming in from the south." Watts cocked his head, as if listening to something.

Sure enough, shortly thereafter, the scream of the Galbadian aircraft's engines could be heard, even through the layers of dirt and concrete that lay above them. As the sound began to fade, Squall could make out a loud whumping noise followed by what sounded like a very strong wind blowing through pine trees.

Watts grimaced. "Napalm, Sir. Be glad you're not up top right now." It's nasty stuff.

"At least it's not gas this time." Zone added. 

Squall's eyes widened in surprise at that. Though SeeDs were still given counteragent injections upon induction, chemical weapons were supposedly illegal by international treaty. "They're really going after you then."

Zone nodded. "At least we haven't seen any biological attacks yet." He shrugged. "I guess that means Galbadia still wants Timber back after they smash us… Uh, try to smash us that is."

The screaming jets passed overhead again, this time their roars were punctuated by a rapid thuttering noise. 

"Triple-A?" Squall asked, surprised.

"Yes, Sir!" Watts looked proud. "When they drove the Galbadians out of the garrison, they captured some anti-aircraft artillery along with two mobile SAM launchers." He smile slipped just a bit. "We're really low on missiles now, so we don't shoot 'em off unless it's something really important."

Rinoa shuddered. "I hope the gunners are ok up there." 

Before anyone could reply to that, the telephone rang again. This time Zone picked up the earpiece. He turned even whiter than Watts had. "Uh-oh. This may be it!"

Squall grimaced. "Already?"

"Spotters have sighted a big group of large aircraft headed in from the west." Zone said.

"Bombers?" 

"No… they're not high enough…and they look more like cargo aircraft" Zone trailed off.

"Paratroopers!" Squall and Watts said as one.

Zone nodded, looking miserable. "The one thing we didn't plan for." 

"Shit!!" Squall said. This didn't do much, but he did feel a bit better for saying it. "I need to use that phone! What do I push to get to the HQ?" He grabbed the earpiece. 

Watts leaned over and punched it for him. "The lines are probably tied up, Sir." 

He was right, Squall slammed down the receiver in disgust. "Where are the SAMs deployed?" 

Zone said, "There's one on the outer perimeter and another near the city center,. Why? What's wrong?"

Squall didn't waste time in answering, instead, he snapped open the transceiver hanging from his belt. "Irvine! Irvine, come in!" 

A staticy voice crackled from the unit. "Irvine here, does this qualify as an emergency, boss?"

Squall ignored the wisecrack. "How far are you from the perimeter SAM site?"

"We got surface-ta-air missiles? Huh, how 'bout that." Came Irvine's reply. "Hold on a sec…"

While he waited for a reply, Squall turned to Watts. "What's the fastest way back to headquarters?"

Before Watts could reply, Irvine's voice issued from the transceiver. "This guy says I'm about five blocks away, Squall, but things are just about to get interesting here, I think I better stay at the main gate, looks like the Galbadians're gonna try something here."

"Negative, Irvine, I need you to get to that SAM site on the double, tell them to shut down their radar. You got that?" Squall waited.

"Shut it down? Well now that doesn't make a whole—" 

"I don't have time to explain, just do it! That's a direct order, SeeD!" Squall snapped the communication unit shut. "Watts, to HQ, let's go!"

"Ok, Sir, follow—eyyouch!" Watts doubled over, clutching his stomach. 

"Follow me, Squall." Zone said as if he knew this would happen. 

As Squall, Rinoa, and Zone dashed down the dark underground corridors of the resistance's network, Squall's communications unit buzzed at him. He snatched it. "Squall here." 

"Yeah, these guys want to know on whose authority they're supposed to shut down their site." Irvine's voice crackled. Below that, Squall could hear one of the rebels operating the SAM's radar exclaim. 

"I got a contact, coming in low!" 

"Irvine! Get everyone the hell out of there, now!!" Squall shouted.

As he popped the attack aircraft up over a low rise, the town of Timber came into view. At the same time, a flashing light on the pilot's control panel turned solid amber, a tone sounded in his helmet. He grinned. "Yeah, just like a good little rebel. Die!" His finger stabbed the firing stud on the flight stick once, then again for good measure.

Irvine drew back as the contraption squawked at him. He shrugged. "Boss's orders." For being as gangly as he was, Irvine was surprisingly strong. He hooked the radar operator's collar, and ignoring his shout of surprise, propelled him toward a second resistance fighter who was manning the firing console.

Two sleek black shapes dropped from the hard points on the aircraft's wing. Once clear, two rocket motors ignited, sending the missiles streaking down—homing in on the SAM site's radar signal.

Using the radar man as a battering ram, Irvine knocked the two resistance members down the hatch in the SAM trailer's floor that lead to an underground passageway, then, for good measure, he jumped down himself. As he fell, suddenly, surprisingly, Irvine's world turned a blinding white—then black.

As two fireballs bloomed beneath him, the Galbadian pilot threw his plane into a hard banking turn. He crowed into his microphone. "Target destroyed!"

A brief roar blasted from the communications unit and then static took its place. "Irvine! Irvine, answer!" Squall shouted into the unit. Only silence answered him. "Shit!" It didn't help at all this time.

Squall, Rinoa, and Zone burst through the door and into the tavern-turned-rebel stronghold. "Shut down the SAM radars!" Squall shouted.

Ferrin turned. "It's already been done, but we couldn't get through to the site on the perimeter." 

Squall stopped, panting slightly. "I think it was hit." Was all he said. 

"Damn, those were good people."

"Selphie, Zell, report to headquarters as soon as possible." Squall spoke into the communications device. He received two affirmatives in reply. _How am I going to tell Selphie… _But Squall cut off the thought before it could form, if she'd been monitoring the channel, she probably already knew. He had other things to worry about presently.

Squall's transceiver chirped again for attention. "Hey, don't forget about me, ya'll."

"Irvine!" Squall knew he must have looked relieved, but he didn't care. "Good to hear from you." For the moment he was at a loss for words. 

"You big oaf! You scared me!" Selphie's voice rang tinnily over the link. "Are you ok?" 

"Just fine, Darlin', but there's a whole lot of nasty folks looking like they want in, heading down the main road into town."Irvine sounded a little shaken.

"Status of the missile site?" Squall transmitted.

"Gone, the missiles too. Sorry, Squall. Everybody got out, though. We're at the western perimeter now. Looks like a couple of troop carriers, some tanks, and some big monsters heading this way." Irvine replied over the link.

From behind Squall Ferrin said something, but her words were lost in a loud noise that sounded similar to a giant zipper being pulled open. A second later a heavy blast shook the building. 

"Artillery!" Someone cried.

Ferrin motioned Squall over while shouting for calm. "We can't hold the perimeter if they drop paratroopers on top of us."

"Right, they'd cut us up—not enough seasoned fighters. Can you order a withdrawal?" Squall shouted to be heard over the thunder of exploding shells. _If one of those lands on this building…_

"No, lines are down. They've been cut, I'll have to send runners." Ferrin shouted back.

"What?!" Squall wondered how the Galbadians had managed to cut their underground communications lines, but even as the question formed, he knew the answer—saboteurs. _How else would they know to use paratroopers?_

[][1]

Irvine squinted through the large glass sight mounted on his weapon. Holding half a breath, he gently squeezed the trigger. The Exeter recoiled and a distant figure toppled from its perch in the open cupola of an approaching tank before fountains of dirt from the artillery barrage blocked his view again. Somewhere down the line of frightened defenders someone launched an anti-armor missile. The enemy was still hopelessly far away, and the projectile exploded harmlessly a few hundred yards out in the dirt.

"Hold fire!" Irvine was annoyed. There weren't many of those type of weapons to waste. "Don't shoot 'till you see the whites of their eyes, boys!" The line made him feel a bit better. "I always wanted to say that." He told the frightened kid next to him. 

"Irvine! Irvine, are you getting this?" His transceiver shouted with Squall's voice.

"Dammit, I was just about to tell my boys here to remember the Alamo! What do you want?" Irvine replied.

"It'll have to wait. Tell everyone up there to fall back to the depot, we're pulling out." The communications device told him.

"What!! No way! Squall, we can hold 'em here! Why the hell are you ordering us to give up now!?" Irvine shouted.

"Look up."

Ten thousand feet above the city of Timber, the rear cargo doors of twelve large transport aircraft opened simultaneously. Red lights changed to green, and the first of fifty static line jumpers launched themselves into the bright, windy sky. On the ground, the sun was blotted out by a cloud of six hundred camouflage parachutes. As the shadow fell across Irvine's position he said philosophically, "Aw shit."

Silence fell like a lead weight across the line of rebels as the artillery barrage ceased. Irvine's heart sank into his toes as he saw, further to the west, the sky was darkened by dozens of flapping forms. Dragons, Elnoyles, and other nasty flying creatures were streaming toward Timber. Not enough to be overwhelming by themselves, but plenty, as far as Irvine was concerned.

Behind him, there was a brief roar as a missile from the surviving SAM battery streaked into the sky. An anemic cheer rose from the defenders as the missile found its mark far above the beleaguered city and an empty cargo aircraft went down in flames. A moment later seven anti-radar missiles erased the SAM site as if it had never been. Seconds later, the artillery bombardment started up again, this time behind Irvine's position.

_What the hell are they doing? Artillery strikes with paratroopers over the target?_ But he knew what the Galbadians were doing—they were clearing mines from landing areas for the airborne assault. 

"Fall back!" Irvine waved. He doubted anyone would ignore his order, but he wanted to make sure no one was inadvertently left behind. "Everyone, back to the station! We're pulling out." 

"Dammit! We were so close!" Ferrin sighed. 

"Nothing for it, we've gotta go now, Mam." Zone put a hand on her arm.

Squall nodded his assent, and turned to Rinoa… but she was gone. For one brief second, he felt his heat squeezed in an icy fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bit of blue fabric disappear through the doors leading out of the tavern. _What is she doing?!_ Squall dashed for the door. "Rinoa!!"

Outside was quite similar to the fifth level of hell. Smoke from burning buildings, lit by its own internal fires towered high in the afternoon sky. Angry bits of metal shrapnel buzzed by in every direction like maddened insects and the only sound was the continuous thunder of the heavy-caliber shells landing within the city, punctuated occasionally by the screams of low-flying fighter craft. Through it all, Rinoa walked with a tranquility one would expect of someone out for a summer stroll in the park. 

"Rinoa! Stop!!" Squall shouted again, but she paid him no heed, if she even heard him. Hastily, Squall cast a protect spell over Rinoa, and then over himself, and ran after her. Squall reached out to drag Rinoa back into the relative safety of the rebel headquarters, when something made him stop. Suddenly, he understood what was happening.

Slowly, eyes closed, Rinoa began to raise both her arms. A gust of wind not from an exploding shell or burning building stirred the hair on Squall's forehead. As Rinoa's arms rose, so did a breeze, then a light wind, then a strong wind, then a gale. Squall braced himself against the hurricane-force storm winds blowing across the city. For Rinoa, there was no need. Gusts and eddies within the magical gale became powerful vortices, catching up paratrooper, flying monster, and artillery shell alike and flinging them far and wide. Somehow just the right combination of air currents managed to distribute these three types of airborne object in completely different places. Much to the dismay of the Galbadian forces rolling up toward the town from the west, the road they had chosen happened to be the wind's depository for nearly all the explosive shells lobbed into Timber from long-range cannon situated several miles away. By the time the order to cease-fire had reached the guns, the assault force had already fled in disarray. 

The majority of paratroopers and flying monsters found themselves blown a bit off-course, and the woods to the north of Timber were soon festooned with hundreds of camouflaged parachutes and dangling paratroopers who were promptly captured by the first trainload of resistance fighters to have shipped out of Timber.

However, not all the airborne monsters were so easily disposed of. A Ruby Dragon managed to wing its way between swirling tornadoes and skidded to an ungainly halt in front of Rinoa. Believing—correctly—that this tiny human was responsible for all its flying troubles, the monster prepared to lunge toward the concentrating sorceress.

Squall didn't bother shouting to Rinoa—she would not have been able to hear him if he had. Drawing his gunblade, he raised a hand, blasting the dragon with Blizzaga to get its attention. In this he succeeded. Distracted from the sorceress, for the moment, the dragon turned its attention upon this other impertinent human. 

Squall dodged a quick snapping lunge by the dragon as it attempted to catch him—as the T-Rexaur had—in its crushing jaws. He surprised even himself with his speed and agility. "What the…?" 

The dragon gave Squall little time to contemplate his newfound speed, as it lunged in again, this time swiping at him with a set of razor-sharp claws. Squall swung the Lionheart up to meet the attack, and to his amazement—and the dragon's—clove cleanly through the outstretched appendage. Roaring in agony, the dragon pulled its ruined foreleg back. Squall made use of the opportunity to take the initiative away from the dragon. Driving forward, he unleashed a devastating series of blows on the beast. The dragon tried to shield itself with the armored scales of its forelegs, but even these offered little protection against Squall's attack. 

As he hacked away at the Ruby Dragon, some part of Squall's mind vaguely recognized that this incredible increase in strength and speed must be coming—in part from Rinoa's power—he recalled witnessing something similar when he had confronted Seifer. But he was dangerously close to becoming drunk with the power suffusing his body. It took a strong effort of willpower for Squall to force himself to break off the attack. Bleeding from a dozen deep wounds, the Ruby dragon attempted to drag itself away from its tormentor with its one remaining operational leg. Watching it, Squall felt just the slightest feather-touch of an emotion he had thought long forgotten; Pity. In an act—Squall reasoned later—that was more self-preservation than compassion, Squall summoned Shiva to finish off the dying monster. As the last arctic sparkles faded away, the Ruby Dragon slumped forward with a titanic sigh of its final breath.

Slowly, the storm winds died down. Rinoa blinked. "Squall?" She cast about, confused, as if unsure of how she had arrived outside. "What happened?" Suddenly a thought occurred to her, her hand flew to her mouth. "Did I…?"

"Yes." Squall turned to her. 

Rinoa looked at Squall, at the bloody gunblade he still held, then to the corpse of the slain dragon. "Did you…?"

"Yes." Squall wiped his weapon clean and sheathed it. "We did."

"What do you mean?" Rinoa looked puzzled, frightened, and hopeful all at the same time.

"I'm not sure, I'll try to explain later." Squall shook his head. "Right now, we should get back and see what's going on in there." He motioned back to the resistance HQ.

"O-Okay." Rinoa was still a bit shaken by her experience. Seeing this, Squall stepped up to her and slipped a supporting arm under her shoulders. 

"Take it easy, I think you just won the war." The corner of his mouth quirked up just a hair.

"Oh my."

[Chapter 3][2]

   [1]: a1\Gallery\ff8.htm
   [2]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/three.htm



	3. Hostes Hostium

** **

**Chapter 3: **

**Hostes Hostium**

** **

"And that about sums it up." Zell finished. 

Squall nodded. "That all makes sense." 

He was referring to the hurried truce that had been established shortly after the Galbadian defeat in Timber. Apparently, the information they had received from a captured officer cut down from a rather tall Oak tree had been right on the money. The paratroop drop into Timber had been Galbadia's last attempt at reclaiming the rebelling republic. Galbadian citizens had become fed up with dealing with the constant uprisings in the occupied territory—and with the army's inability to suppress such guerrilla actions, and were demanding an immediate end to hostilities in Timber—those that weren't rioting in the streets of Deling City or actively rebelling against their local Galbadian authorities that was. The Galbadian military, as well, was tired of throwing men and supplies at the seemingly unsolvable problems caused by the inexhaustible supply of resistance fighters that Timber sported. In light of all this, the Galbadian government was willing to grant Timber its independence, releasing all political prisoners who were Timber natives, and possibly even consider paying some limited reparations for the damage done to the capital during the fighting. In return, Galbadia was requesting the release of all prisoners of war captured during the brief but intense fighting. Apparently, domestic disturbances within Galbadia were becoming so bad that the military needed every soldier it had just to hold the country together. Toward negotiating a peace accord of this nature, Galbadia had invited the leaders—or representatives of the leaders—of the Timber resistance to parlay—along with representatives of Balamb Garden and Esthar at a summit in Dollet.

Of course, this news had spread faster than wildfire among members of the resistance and the sounds of the great celebration—that had started with a small toast in the bar-turned-revolutionary headquarters-turned-bar again to the end of Timber's long war for independence—wafted into the second-floor room of the Timber Lodge. Remarkably, the hotel was more-or-less intact even after the heavy bombing that the city had undergone. 

"Okay, everyone, nice work." Squall shrugged. "It's been a busy day, so—"

"Busy day! Busy day he says!" Irvine exclaimed.

"Oh, tut tut, nice work saving the planet and all everybody, it's been a busy day so go get some rest." Selphie joined in, in a—rather poor, Squall thought—imitation of Squall. 

"We didn't save the planet." Squall corrected her.

"Oh no, that's right, we did THAT yesterday!" Zell shouted. 

"Hm… lets see, what's on the itinerary for today…" Rinoa began her own imitation, going along with Selphie's. "…save the planet before noon, light lunch, liberate a small country in the afternoon, take a nap…" She shoved Squall playfully. "Doesn't anything ever faze you?" She laughed.

_You do._

"Look at him!" Selphie continued. "Right now, he's probably thinking about how we should be reporting back for our next assignment!"

"Look, just because we happen to be in the right places at the right times… and yes, we probably should check in with the headmaster soon." Squall said seriously. 

Irvine smacked a hand to his forehead. 

"Don't you dare!" Selphie said. 

"Grab his transmitter!" Rinoa shouted, and the entire group tackled Squall.

In the scuffle that ensued Squall gasped as he was driven to the floor. "Mutiny!" 

"That's right, Ahab!" Rinoa giggled as she pinned Squall's arms. "Get it now, guys!"

Zell managed to snatch the communication equipment. "I got it! Run!" He shouted triumphantly, and lit out down the hall.

Irvine and Selphie followed hard on his heels, Selphie shouting "Whoo-Hoo! Let's hit the PAAR-TAY!"

That left Squall still flat on his back, arms still pinned down by the Rinoa, their faces only inches apart. Rinoa looked down at him. "You really weren't serious about calling Cid, were you?" 

Squall stared up at her defiantly. "Maybe." 

"Well then," a sly smile tugged at the corners of Rinoa's mouth. "I guess I'd better not take any chances and shut you up good." She bent her head down past the tiny bit of air that had separated them, and Squall was most definitely silenced. In fact, he had just forgotten about anything and everything else in the world but the sorceress's kiss when an—apparently inebriated—reveling post-revolutionary fighter chose the open doorframe of the room on which to steady himself. Chancing to glance in, he saw Squall and Rinoa. 

"WHOOOOAHHH!" He hollered. "Go for it!!" Courteously slamming the door with a final "Freeee Timber!!" he could be heard careening down the hallway shouting happily.

As a startled Rinoa released his arms, Squall placed a hand over his face. Daring to peer out from between his fingers, he saw a red-faced Rinoa making a similar gesture. They giggled at each other. 

Finally Squall sat up. "Well, shall we see what's going on out there?" He waved at the window.

Rinoa's eyes widened in mock-shock. "Wow, is the legendary hard-ass, Squall Leonhart, suggesting that we go out and enjoy ourselves for once?"

Squall shook his head. "Hell no, I just want to get my transmitter back." 

Squall and Rinoa made their way through the masses of people clogging what remained of Timber's aboveground street system. The revelers were all revolutionaries and their families who had opted to stick it out instead of fleeing Timber when the shooting started. Squall was amazed that so many people had remained in the city. It had seemed far more deserted during the fighting—though he had only managed to tour a small section of the former rebels underground shelter system. As things were, most of the night's partygoers were tired, dirty, and a bit dazed from the fighting. Most of them no longer had homes to return to or businesses left to tend, but all such concerns were swept away in the great relief everyone felt just to be alive… and free!

From some hidden reserves, stale rations and caustic home-brewed spirits had been dredged up by enterprising souls and the zeal for life of those present turned such plain fare into delicacies fit for a kingly feast.

Rinoa, with Squall in tow finally reached Timber's ruined railroad depot, where the one remaining engine had been hooked into a jury-rigged sound-amplification and lighting system. Squall couldn't imagine who had managed to throw together such a setup in the short time between the cease-fire and nightfall. _Well, that's not quite true…_ he could, indeed imagine such a person, and she happened to be short and exceedingly high-spirited.

At the moment, a makeshift band of a dozen odd instruments was slaughtering some unrecognizable tune. People were spilled across several different lines of defunct railroad track, some shaping up into a semblance of a line dance, some dancing in couples, and most just hopping about at random, expressing their happiness at being alive. Rinoa happily drifted from group to group, sometimes shouting joyful salutations to old acquaintances, sometimes attempting to show Squall the proper form of dance to go with whatever the band happened to be belting out at the moment. Eventually, they wound their way around to the rear of the station's remains. Here, the crowd thinned, and in darkened corners, and under wrecked railroad cars, couples sat and talked, or kissed, or… 

Squall coughed and looked away. 

Rinoa laughed at his embarrassment and tugged on his arm. "Come on, I want to show you what Timber used to be like." She led him through a gaping hole blown out of the outer wall of the station. 

They walked together through a deserted square on the outskirts of the town. Rinoa waved her arm. "My grandfather used to tell me when I was little about how all of this used to look." She pointed to the shell of a bombed-out building. "He said there used to be a little brook that ran from there, right through this spot." 

"Your grandfather?" It was the first Squall had ever heard Rinoa mention her extended family. 

"Yes, he, and… that man… and my grandmother used to live here in Timber together. Then that man ran away to Galbadia to join their army." She sighed.

_And when he came back, it was as a conqueror? No wonder there's a history of trouble in your family._

Rinoa looked at him, seeming to read his thoughts again. "He betrayed his heritage, Squall." She waved at the ruined square. "Look at this place. Even before this all happened, he let the Galbadians come in and destroy everything."Rinoa sighed again. "I used to see such wonderful things in my mind when my grandfather would talk about how the forest looked here. I wish I could show you what he showed me." She waved an arm again at the broken buildings and smoking rubble. 

But Squall could see, for as Rinoa waved her arm, she traced out an arc—like wiping frost from a window in the wintertime. Through air her arm had disturbed, a scene appeared of, Squall could only guess, an earlier time. Just as Rinoa had said, a sparkling, clear brook wound its way between stately, moss-covered trees. Dappled moonlight sifted down from the canopy overhead. Rinoa gasped at the sight, and like a soap bubble, the window disappeared with an almost audible pop. 

"Beautiful." Squall said. But Rinoa had turned away from him. He placed a hand on her shoulder. To his surprise, she was shaking. "Rinoa, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing… I'll be ok… just give me a second…" Rinoa's voice broke and she tried to push Squall away, hiding her face.

Maybe before he knew her, Squall might have chosen to give Rinoa time to compose herself, but now he knew that was not really what she wanted. He placed his other hand on her shoulder. "It's ok, you can tell me."

Rinoa turned and buried her face in Squall's chest, but not before he saw the starlight glint off twin trails of tears down Rinoa's face. He felt her shudder against him with the effort to hide her sobs.

_What do I do now? _Squall fought down a rising panic. _I don't know how to deal with this! What do I say? What do I do? _He gently stroke Rinoa's hair. "It's okay. It'll be okay." He whispered, as if he had all the answers. 

When she could find her voice again, Rinoa's words were muffled. "Oh God, I'm sorry." She sniffed. "It's just…" Another sob threatened to choke off her words. "I… I can't control it, Squall. I can't tell when it's going to happen, or what it's going to do. I'm so scared…" This time the lump in Rinoa's throat did stop her from saying any more. 

Squall held her tight as a renewed round of sobs shuddered through Rinoa. He could think of nothing else to say or do.

Eventually, Rinoa calmed. Embarrassed, she pulled her head back, shaking her hair down to hide her face. She choked out a small laugh as she peeled Squall's pendant of Griever off of her forehead. "I'm sorry, I ruined the evening and messed up your shirt." 

Squall brushed her hair from in font of her face with a finger. He looked into her tear-reddened eyes. "Rinoa, I'm here…" _…not as your employee, or mercenary, but as your compatriot, your friend, your knight, and maybe… something more._ "…you can tell me anything." Squall wasn't sure if what had said made sense, but Rinoa seemed to know what he was thinking. 

She hugged Squall. "I know…" She whispered as he hugged back, "…thank you."

"Are you feeling better?" Squall wanted to know.

"If you mean 'am I done bawling?' Yes, I think so." Rinoa answered.

"That's not what I meant." Squall regarded her seriously. "Rinoa, please, if you need to talk…" _Boy, never thought I'd be saying THAT…_

Rinoa shot him a wane smile. "Never thought I'd hear you say THAT." Then a bit of the old Rinoa returned. "Yes, I sure do, and you're going to get to listen to me, aren't you happy?" 

Squall was beginning to realize that perhaps the 'old' Rinoa might be just as much of a façade as the 'real' Squall was. 

Rinoa lead Squall over to the smooth broken bowl of a dry fountain in the middle of the square. She hopped up onto the hard curved surface, followed by Squall. Shortly thereafter they both sat reclining on the outer rim's slope. 

"Sometimes I wonder how you do it." Rinoa hugged her knees to her chest. 

Squall waited for her to finish.

"How you all stay so calm. I really meant that, earlier, about how nothing seems to get to you…" Rinoa trailed off.

_So did I._

"I mean, what's that like?" Rinoa tilted her head to the side. "Oh, here comes that sorceress who wants to destroy everybody, again, guess I'd better kill her." Rinoa looked up at the stars. "Sometimes I wish I could be like that."

_It's not as easy as it seems. _Squall sighed.

"What?" 

"It's not as simple as we make it seem." He looked over at her. "It… it does get to us… eventually." 

"No it doesn't." Rinoa shook her head. "I've never seen you unsure—I mean, I've never seen you unsure… of yourself—not once. You, Selphie, Irvine, Quistis, Zell—well, maybe not Zell—and even… even Seifer. You're always ready to take on anything." She lowered her head. "It just seems like I'm… I'm never that way." 

_It's just the impression we cultivate. What sort of SeeDs would we be if we were always acting as frightened as we feel._

"Has there ever been a time when you didn't feel so sure?"

_Has there ever!_

Rinoa looked over at Squall. "I'm sorry, I don't want to dredge up any bad memories, I just want you to understand how I'm feeling."

_I know how you feel, Rinoa, I know how you feel every night I'm alone with my memories… no… even every time we're apart._ Squall's hand had unconsciously drifted to his forehead again.

"Squall?" Rinoa leaned over.

"Yes?"

"Please… tell me what you're thinking just now." She said.

"I can't." Squall held back a shrug. "I'm sorry." 

"Oh, please." Rinoa looked into his eyes beseechingly. "Don't hide whatever it is from me this time."

Squall's resolve wavered. "I'm afraid… I can't." He said, hoping she would take the words the wrong way.

She did not. "What are you afraid of? Don't worry. I'm right here, I'll protect you." Rinoa patted his hand.

Squall started to snort, then thought twice. _She's a sorceress now, she probably could… and she is right here beside me…whether or not I tell her, it will still haunt me again tonight._

Seeing she was winning him over, Rinoa made a final strategic play. "Please?" She said quietly, with just the slightest look of dejection. 

It worked, Squall finally resolved to tell her. Involuntarily he reached for her hand. She clasped his. Squall drew in a deep breath. "Do you remember that night on the observation deck when you asked me what was bothering me?"

Rinoa nodded. "Yes, and you told me a little bit about what happened to you during the time compression." She cocked her head to the side. "Did something happen to you then?" 

Squall closed his eyes. "Nothing happened to me then… but I saw… you." 

"Well that's certainly enough to make anyone lose their cool." Rinoa tried to lighten Squall's mood just a bit.

But Squall barely heard her, he was reliving the nightmare over again, for the thousandth time. "You… you were standing in the field—our field… I called to you, and you turned, but… I-I couldn't see your face." 

Rinoa squeezed Squall's hand reassuringly. His grip was that of a drowning man's on a life preserver. His skin had gone cold and clammy, his breath came in quick, sharp gasps.

"I could see everyone, but you… and then…" Squall's eyes snapped open. For a moment they seemed unfocused, lost, terrified, then he recognized Rinoa and the fear subsided just a hair. "I saw… saw you… I saw you d—" But Squall could not force himself to say it, a great lump in his throat choked off his words.

"Die?" Rinoa asked. She had never seen Squall so perturbed. 

Squall nodded, miserable, angry, embarrassed, frightened, lost, all at once, holding onto his last shred of composure by a fingernail. 

Rinoa saved him. "Oh Squall…" she said and hugged him, letting him escape. He held on so tightly she could barely breathe, blowing out an explosive breath that sounded almost like a sob. "…is that why you've been coming into my room at night?" She felt his head shake as he nodded—not trusting himself to speak. 

She held on to Squall as she felt the tension in his body slowly slacken as he fought back his emotions yet again. 

Eventually, Squall unclenched his jaw and took a breath. "So now, I've cried on your shoulder." 

Rinoa smiled at him. "Ok, we're even. I guess we make a pretty pathetic pair." She sighed happily. "I can't believe it."

"What?" Squall looked at her quizzically.

"Well… I guess I get off easier, since you already said it." She paused. But it wasn't any easier—not really. "I had nightmares too…"

Showing surprising initiative—he thought, Squall intertwined his arm with Rinoa's for support.

"Sometimes, in the dark, I see that night in Deling City all over again…" Rinoa shuddered.

"The monsters?" 

Rinoa shook her head. "No… you… and the sorceress… and the ice." Her mind wanted to show that horrible, horrible movie again, but it could not, he was right here, beside her, and now he was drawing her close.

"I'm right here, beside you." He whispered into her ear.

"I know." Her throat wanted to seize up again, but she wouldn't allow it. "I was so relieved, every night you came in and watched me when you thought I was sleeping." She sighed. "And I was so disappointed every night I thought I heard you in the hall, but no one came. I guess it wasn't you."

"It was." Squall said. A long silence ensued.

Tired, drained, Rinoa lay back, then nestled up against Squall's side. "I want to stay like this, forever. It's safe here." 

_We really should be getting back. _But it wouldn't hurt to stay a few more minutes, Squall reasoned. "I guess we're both just crazy then, huh?" Squall craned his neck to look over at Rinoa, but she was already asleep, head pillowed on Squall's arm. With his right hand, he carefully stroked a wisp of hair off of her face, letting his fingers trail down her warm cheek. She sighed and smiled at his touch, and tried to burrow further into his side. Squall let his head fall back on the smooth surface of the fountain's bowl. He sighed as he looked up at the gibbous moon floating through a thin veil of clouds overhead. Yes, they could stay here just a while longer.

A fat black crow fluttered to a halt atop the highest fountain pipe. Puffing itself up in the late-morning sunlight, it cawed raucously at the two figures below.

Squall awoke with a start, his right hand already on the handle of his gunblade. Blinking, he squinted into the sunlight. 

Beside him, Rinoa yawned and stretched. "Wow, it looks pretty late." 

"Hmm." By all rights, Squall should've been stiffer than a rusted tin man after spending the night on the bottom of the hard, concrete fountain. But then again, by all rights, he should've spent most the night wide-awake and worrying as he usually did. 

Rinoa looked over at him, and read his mind. "No nightmares either?" She smiled.

Squall thought back to the events of the night before and felt like hiding under a rock. Mornings gave you a unique perspective on the world.

"I guess we ought to head back." Rinoa said.

"No hurry." Squall shrugged. 

Rinoa's eyes widened in surprise. 

"I doubt the rest of the team is in much better shape than we are." 

The rest of the team was, indeed, in worse shape than Squall and Rinoa as they found out, after a quick breakfast at a—miraculously—still open café. The rings under Zell's eyes were large enough to drive a truck through, and both Irvine and Selphie seemed to have slept—very briefly—in full combat gear. Squall felt just the slightest tinge of poetically justified satisfaction.

As disheveled as the SeeDs looked, however, they were all awake when Squall and Rinoa returned together. 

"Hoo-doggie! Look's like me an' Selphie weren't the only ones who got a little action last night." Irvine observed.

As Rinoa and Squall blushed simultaneously, Selphie whirled and slapped Irvine—none too gently—across the face. "We did no such thing!" She shouted in indignation.

Irvine rubbed his jaw. "Aww, darlin', I was talking about dancing, you know that!"

"No you weren't, you pig!" Selphie kicked at Irvine who did his best to dance back out of range. 

"Uh, Squall, Ferrin sent a messenger earlier saying she wanted to meet us all at noon at the station." Zell informed him.

Glancing at his wrist chronometer, Squall shrugged. "We'd better get going then."

About a half-hour later, the group arrived at the remains of Timber's railroad depot. The detritus from the previous night's celebration mingled with the debris from the bombing raids making Squall wonder how so many people had ever been able to dance and celebrate in the cluttered space between the walls.

Ferrin was waiting for them along with some familiar faces from the rebel headquarters. She waved at the SeeDs and sorceress to join the group gathered in front of Timber's one remaining locomotive. As they did so, Zone and Watts wove their way over to meet Rinoa. 

"Ok, I think that's everyone." Ferrin addressed the gathered fighters. "I've called you all here to give you an update on what's going on with regard to the negotiations with Galbadia." She surveyed the group. "I expect you all to disseminate this information among your respective teams after we're done here." Receiving nods, she smiled and continued. "As most of you already know, we're holding the Galbadian paratroopers we captured prisoner in one of the underground bomb shelters." Ferrin grimaced. "We never really planned on taking large numbers of prisoners, so I want to get rid of them as badly as I imagine you all do. However, seeing as they represent pretty much our only leverage at the negotiation table, I'm afraid we're going to have to hold on to them at least until the summit in Dollett." No one looked happy at that prospect, but neither did anyone speak out against it.

Ferrin continued. "Speaking of the negotiations, they're going to be held in five days, so we need to get moving on that, Ray, Angelica, I'll need to speak to you after the meeting about our conditions and terms. I'll be attending the negotiations in person." This news brought a murmur of unrest from many of those gathered. Ferrin raised her hands. "I know, I don't trust the Galbadians either, but representatives from Balamb Garden and Esthar will also be there, and I'll be taking along some guards, you can be sure of that, so I doubt the Galbadians will try anything funny, besides, we still have their paratroopers." Most people quieted at these assurances. 

"Now, there's something I want you all to understand." She paused until those gathered were absolutely silent. "The Galbadians had us on the ropes there for a while. Despite all our preparations, they managed to surprise us and would undoubtedly have defeated us… were it not for this brave young lady." Ferrin indicated a surprised Rinoa with one hand. 

"Rinoa, Timber owes you its freedom, and everyone here owes you his or her personal gratitude." She paused for a moment, and from the rear of the crowd, a steady wave of applause swept forward. Rinoa ducked her head with embarrassment, but she was unable to hide the proud little smile from Squall. 

Ferrin allowed the applause to continue for another moment before raising her hands again for silence. "You are one of us so you realize that we, the citizens of Timber, never forget a debt. Remember us, if you are ever in need." 

After a few more notes, the meeting wrapped up with everyone dispersing into the city to inform their respective groups of what had transpired. After a quick, private conversation with Ferrin, Rinoa returned to the group of SeeDs. "I guess general Caraway knows I'm here." Rinoa frowned. "That man is now the acting president of Galbadia, and he sent a personal request that I attend the negotiations in Dollett." She sighed.

"Do you want to go?" Selphie asked.

Rinoa blew a strand of hair from her face. "I supposed I'd better. Even if he won't listen to me, I might be able to indirectly help Ferrin negotiate more favorable terms for Timber." She turned to Squall. "I guess your mission is over now, huh?"

Squall's brow furrowed. "Maybe. The wording on the contract was pretty vague." He continued to look displeased. "I don't think I can put off reporting back any longer."

"Okay." Rinoa's expression was carefully neutral.

Squall shrugged, and extended his open hand toward Zell.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Zell sheepishly pulled out the communications device and placed it in Squall's hand.

Squall punched in the code to access the Garden's communications center. 

"Balamb switchboard here." Said the device. 

"This is the Timber Squad, reporting in." Squall spoke into the transmitter.

"Timber Squad? Hold on, the headmaster wanted this call switched directly to him." There was a popping noise, then the headmaster's voice issued from the speaker. "Headmaster Kramer here." 

"Sir, this is Squall Leonhart, currently on assignment in Timber with a situational update." Squall was acutely conscious of the other three SeeDs listening in on the conversation. 

"Squall! Good to hear from you! How are things in Timber these days?"

After filling the headmaster in on the developments in Timber, Squall requested further orders, dreading the response. However, instead of ordering them back to the garden, Cid chose instead to request the SeeDs meet him for the peace negotiations in Dollett. The headmaster, directly escorted by Quistis Trepe, and indirectly by two other SeeD squads were to meet with the Timber squad in Dollett upon the commencement of the peace talks. The headmaster seemed no more trusting of Galbadia than Ferrin. Xu was apparently remaining behind to run the garden in the headmaster's absence. Squall, Zell, Selphie, and Irvine were left to find their own way to Dollett in the four days remaining before the beginning of the negotiations.

Upon consulting Ferrin, the four SeeDs agreed to accompany her, her guards, and Rinoa on a moderately sized cabin cruiser that would make the run up the coast to Dollett within the necessary time frame. 

The boat was scheduled to leave early the next morning, leaving the group of friends the rest of the afternoon to wander about the newly liberated town of Timber. 

As more and more of the previous night's revelers recovered, the city of Timber was beginning to come to life. By mid-afternoon, everywhere one looked, signs of reconstruction appeared. The independent citizens set about rebuilding their city with a will and even Rinoa was surprised by how eager everyone seemed to be to put Timber back together again.

Squall stood in the bow of the fishing-trawler-turned-emissary-vessel as it motored out from between the high cliffs that protected the small harbor on Timber's eastern coast. The rusty watercraft had seen better days. Its deck was stained from thousands of catches, rusty trails streaked from every scupper, pipe, joint, and line fitting. On the stern of the vessel, peeling letters proclaimed her the 'Merry Kay', though below the lettering could be seen a shadow of another name from an earlier time. Cracked rubber tires and broken plastic bumpers lay across her decking at the ends of their frayed ropes, ready to be tossed over the side to protect the Merry Kay's upper hull from scraping up against the docks. Under Squall's feet, the scuffed wooden boards squelched occasionally as he shifted his weight onto a bit of rotten decking. Brass davits had long since turned the wood upon which they were bolted green, and the distinctive odor that fishing trawlers have pervaded the still morning air.

Squall shrugged, he hadn't expected any different. Timber's government was newer than the first star of evening. It would be a long time—if ever—before the government assumed all the trappings of a firmly implanted institution.

Case in point, the four SeeDs, sorceress, and Timber delegation had arrived in the tiny fishing village of Coronet Cliffs aboard three captured Galbadian APCs. Some of the villagers, not yet aware of the Galbadian defeat in Timber City, had began pelting the military vehicles with rocks, rotten produce, and other items as they had rolled into town. Only after Ferrin had popped out of the lead APC and shouted of the rebel victory had the villagers' angry shouts turned to cheers. Before boarding the Merry Kay, the delegation had received the town's mayor's deepest apologies—you see news and gossip doesn't travel so fast here… et-cetera, et-cetera.

After a few somewhat sentimental goodbyes between the former members of the Forest Owls—Zone and Watts having elected to be part of the group's escort to Coronet Cliffs, the group had departed, a flock of locals, who had gathered about the docks to get a glimpse of the famous Rebel leader and her escort of nearly legendary warriors, saw them off. Zone and Watts had remained behind to assist with the rebuilding of Timber.

Thinking about all this—Squall found—was far preferable to facing the issues that had kept him awake and brooding long after the others had turned in the night before. _I can't believe I told her. I can't believe I acted like that. _Squall had been able to keep control for so long… why was his composure beginning to crack now? _But you know the reason, don't you? Had it been Zell, Irvine, Selphie, Quistis, Cid, even Edea…none of them can pierce my shell. _Squall banged a fist down on the railing. _You're too close, Squall. You've got to run. You have to get away now. Otherwise… _

But on a ship, there are very few places to run. This point was brought home to Squall as Rinoa made her way up from belowdecks to stand beside him. 

"Um… Squall?" Rinoa bit her upper lip. "Uh, Ferrin… well, she was kind of embarrassed to ask this, so she sent me instead." 

Relieved beyond words that Rinoa had not come to talk about… _that…_ Squall turned. "Ask what?"

Rinoa, too, seemed a bit embarrassed by the request. "Uh, well, you've probably noticed that we aren't exactly aboard the Q.E. 2 or anything…" She paused, but realized that she was not going to get any help from Squall. "Anyway, uh, we thought it might be a good Idea—that is, it might help the negotiations out if…"

"…If we didn't arrive aboard something that looked like a tramp steamer?" Squall finally finished for her.

Rinoa nodded.

Sighing, Squall rolled his eyes. "Alright, what does she want us to do?" 

Rinoa clapped her hands. "Yes! I knew you'd be willing to help. Come on, let's go get the stuff."

'The stuff' turned out to be mops, buckets, paint, brushes, scrapers, sandpaper, hammers, nails, coils of rope, and a caustic cleaning agent that seemed more likely to take off your hand rather than grease and dirt. Irvine and Zell were about as happy about their new status as 'swabs' as was Squall, but Selphie and Rinoa somehow managed to keep their good spirits.

"Hey, Rinoa."Zell began, with a bit of a whine from where he hung, high on the ship's single derrick, chipping away at decades-old rust with a scraper. "Can't you just wave your arms and—you know—poof! Turn this ship into a nice new yacht or something?

Irvine nodded greenly, from his the spot where he hung over the ship's railing, polishing away—and occasionally making as if to send his lunch the way of his breakfast—over the side. "Yeah, darlin'? Or at least into something that doesn't buck around quite so much?" 

Rinoa paused, sander tapping against a bulkhead thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose I could try… but then again, I might just make the hull evaporate or something." 

Irvine turned an even paler shade of green. "Well, in that case, maybe we should wait to try that one until we get to Dollett, ok?"

It was late afternoon of their third day at sea. The 'Ambassador I'—as the fresh paint on the stern of the ship proclaimed—had been steaming up Timber's coastline, remaining within sight of land at all times in case of heavy weather. With only one day remaining before the start of negotiations, the ship was beginning to look at least slightly presentable. Everyone—even Ferrin—had helped with the scrubbing down of the aging trawler, sometimes discussing negotiation strategy with her cohorts while polishing brass or replacing rigging.

Squall looked down to where the prow of the ship sliced through the orange, late afternoon sea. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rinoa drew up beside Squall.

Steeling himself, Squall pulled away from her. _Easy now, just do what you have to do. _He could barely force himself to turn to witness Rinoa's hurt expression.

"Squall, what's wrong?" 

_God, this is hard. I never should have let things go this far. _"Nothing. Everything's fine." He said, trying his damnedest to inject a harsh edge into his voice.

"Huh?" The confusion on Rinoa's face was heartbreaking.

"…" Squall turned away.

_She'll get the idea._

Rinoa did. _That wall. There it is again, what is he doing?_ "Jeeze, Squall, what are you doing?"

"Nothing." 

"Squall, don't push me away." Rinoa tried again to put a hand on his shoulder.

Squall stood on his emotions with both feet, grinding them like polish into the deck with the heel of his boots. He forced himself to pull away again. "Leave me alone." 

The silence that fell between them was iron-clad.

Finally, Rinoa spoke. Harshly. "Ok, I get the hint, you won't have to sulk much longer." She blew out an explosive breath in anger. "God! What is it with you? What does it take to get through to you?!" 

Squall gritted his teeth and did his best to stare straight out to sea at nothing.

"Or is that it? Is that what finally did it?" Rinoa was angry, but she didn't shout, she didn't scream or cry. Maybe it would have been better if she had, Squall thought. "Did I get too close, Squall? Did you maybe, just maybe, start to feel something?"

Under his gloves, Squall's knuckles whitened, as his grip on the railing tightened.

"That's it, isn't it?" Rinoa continued. "Something finally got through that damned wall you've built around yourself." She stamped her foot. "Did it hurt?"

_Yes, it does, but not as much as it would have later…_

"Squall, I used to think you were the bravest person who ever lived..." The slightest quaver began to creep in with the anger. "…but I was wrong." she gasped for a breath. "Because you're not even alive." With that, Rinoa whirled and ran from him.

Slowly, slowly, Squall's jaw unlocked, his muscles relaxed. The hole, the same hole that had been ripped in him when Ellone left, was back. But he knew, if he hadn't done what he had done, it would have been much, much larger later. _This is it. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Well, you got it._ "Congratulations, you son of a bitch." Squall whispered, filled with self-loathing.

A ship is a very small world. Belowdecks is an even smaller one. Squall spent the night on a pile of ropes behind the pilothouse, alone with the stars, and the nightmare when it returned.

The next morning, Squall awakened to the crying of seagulls. As he was facing the rear of the ship, he could see the long trail of the ship's wake stretching off toward the lightening horizon. To his right, the sun was beginning to peer above the cliffs of the far-off coastline of what he now assumed was Dollett's territory. Behind him, Squall hear footsteps on the decking. 

Facing out to sea, Zell yawned gapingly and stretched. He turned, and started at the sight of Squall. "Woa, man, didn't see you there." His brow furrowed. "Have you been out here all night?"

Squall remained silent.

Zell failed to pick up on the nonverbal cues and continued, "Hey man, I don't mean to pry or anything, but what's up with you and Rinoa? I mean, you guys are like, so tight all through everything that's happened since Ultimecia, and now, Rinoa comes in and cries herself to sleep last night and you're out here sleeping on deck." 

Squall sighed. "Did Selphie and Irvine send you out here?" 

Zell looked a bit astounded. "Woa, how'd you know?" 

Squall put a hand to his forehead.

"Hey, Squall, you know, we're all just worried about you two. You know, if you've had a falling out or something, we just wanna help you two get over it, you know?" Zell cocked his head to the side. 

Squall frowned. "Zell."

"Yeah?"

"Would you give Selphie and Irvine a message for me?" Squall asked.

"Sure thing!" Zell leaned forward. "What is it?"

"…."

"Huh?" Zell didn't get it.

Squall closed his eyes. "Tell them, I don't want any help." _This is hard enough without everyone sticking their nose in._

"Uh, ok." Zell looked nonplussed, but this time he did take the hint, and left.

Squall folded his arms, and returned to his brooding.

A few moments later, Squall heard another set of footsteps on the ladder leading up to the deck. He steeled himself _You can even recognize her by the sound of her footfalls. Squall, why did you ever let this happen?_

Rinoa reached the deck, and walked right on past Squall. She took up a position leaning slightly against the rails at the stern of the trawler. 

After a few moments, Squall rose to his feet. This wasn't going to be easy. Stepping forward, he took up a cautious position at the rail, a few feet from Rinoa, studiously avoiding looking at her face. He stood like this for several minutes, unsure of how to begin. Eventually, he made a stab at it. "Rinoa, I… about last night…"

Rinoa mumbled something.

"I'm sorry? I didn't hear that?" Squall said cautiously.

"I said, it's ok." Rinoa also carefully kept her gaze leveled on the far-off horizon. "I've been thinking about what I said, and I… I need to ask you something, Squall."

Squall looked down at the bubbling wake. "Go ahead."

"Squall, I—I can't do this alone." She began.

"You have a knight…" Squall interjected.

Rinoa shook her head, still keeping her eyes away from Squall. "No… no, that's not what I meant, that's not what I need." She drew in a breath. "I know there's something in your past that's got its hooks into you, I know it's hard for you to get close to anyone." She paused, and this time she did turn to face Squall. Her eyes were red with unhappiness. "But, right now, I need someone who can be that way. I need it so badly I can taste it, Squall." She blinked away something in her eye. "I know you can be my knight, I know you can be my protector, my mercenary. I know you can keep me safe from harm…"

_Can I? Can I really?_

The quaver was back in Rinoa's voice. "But I need someone I can confide in, like that night in Timber. I need a shoulder to cry on, someone to share what I'm feeling with, but I don't want a wall, I want someone who will share back." Her eyes pleaded with Squall. "Can… can you do that for me, Squall?"

_I want to, God, I want to so badly it hurts._

Squall's head dropped. "I'm sorry." He whispered. He closed his eyes, he didn't want to look, didn't want to see his words hit Rinoa like a physical blow, didn't want to see the terrible expression of hurt and sadness in her eyes. But he could feel it, even without seeing. Squall heard her gasp, heard her wrap a hand around the railing to steady herself, he could feel her… essence… recoil from him, from his words. "Rinoa, I…"

"No." Rinoa gasped, raising a hand, as if to fend off a physical attack. "No, Squall, just… don't—don't say any more." She backed away from him. "Just go—just leave me alone!" 

Squall fled.

They made port in Dollett shortly after noon. From the water, the city looked much the same as it had the last time Squall saw it—except for the droves of people flocking amongst the city's docks. As the Ambassador I, motored between the chipped and cracked concrete breakwaters that protected the town's harbor, Squall could make out three of Balamb Garden's landing craft, tied up alongside one of the wide stone jetties. The flash of photographic strobes sparkled amongst the mob milling about near where the SeeD vessels were moored. Squall grimaced _Reporters…_ He sighed. Irvine, who had come up behind him, remarked, "Well, ya can't 'spect to avoid the press forever after doing what we've done, eh?" 

Squall nodded as Selphie—who had followed Irvine up from below decks hopped up and down excitedly. "Oh boy! Are we gonna be on TEE-VEE?!" 

"Yup, darlin', and radio, and magazines, and newspapers everywhere, most likely. If they don't want to talk to us about Ultimecia, then they'll probably want to talk to us about Timber." Irvine turned to her. 

"Say, Squall." Zell had also joined the group observing the activity on the docks. "What are our orders concerning talking to the press and all that?" 

"We're to keep our mouths shut."Squall replied. "No statements, no stories, I don't even want anyone to nod, understand? "We're here to patrol the peace talks and make sure Galbadia doesn't try anything sneaky, not to make statements of any kind that could be mistaken as the policies of Balamb Garden or SeeD."

"Aww…" Selphie and Zell both looked dejected at that.

Squall shrugged. _They'll deal with it. _"Alright, everyone, check your junctions and GF's. I know we're in dress uniform, but we need to be ready for anything." Regarding his squad, he said, "Is everyone ready to go ashore?" Receiving nods all around, Squall barked, "SeeDs, take your positions!"

With that, the group moved quickly to the port side of the Ambassador I, where the crew/negotiations team were tossing the ship's bumpers over the side in preparation for mooring. With Squall standing at the forward right, Zell at forward left, Selphie at rear right, and Irvine at rear left, the four SeeDs stood stiffly, eyeing the crowded docks as mooring lines snaked across the narrowing gap between the ship and the jetty. Hands on weapons, the SeeDs were the first to cross the gangplank extended from the Trawler to the dock, pushing the onlookers back. 

Reporters who had shoved themselves to the forefront of the gathered crowd tried to advance, holding microphones before them as if they were offensive weapons. Squall grimaced, they certainly were offensive. As flashbulbs popped and cameras rolled, Selphie couldn't help mugging a bit. Zell, though he was busily shoving the eager journalists backward, was wearing a goofy star struck grin. Had he had a free hand, Squall would have placed it over his face.

"Squall! Squall Leonhart! How did it feel to travel into the future?" 

"Mr. Kinneas, is it true that you and Ms. Tilmitt are lovers?" 

Selphie shot Irvine a look of pure venom. Irvine held his hands up to emphasize his innocence.

"Zell Dincht! Were you really the one who dealt Ultimecia the killing blow?" 

Zell grinned, but to Squall's relief, the entire squad remained silent as per their orders. Realizing they were not going to get any answers from the stalwart SeeDs, the reporters quieted and allowed themselves to be herded away from the gangway. After Squall judged the crowd to be contained and under control, he nodded to Ado Silever—one of the Timber negotiators—standing by the hatchway to the Ambassador I's lower decks. 

Ado leaned over and said something to persons unseen below decks. 

Squall's breath caught in his throat as Ferrin emerged, followed by _Is that really her? _the sorceress, Rinoa Heartilly. Squall looked a second time, Rinoa seemed not to walk, but rather float up the steps from the Ship's lower decks. For a moment, Squall wondered whether she had cast Float on herself before emerging. Behind him, the mob of journalists and gawkers fell into absolute silence, so commanding of their attention was the presence of the sorceress. 

Beside Rinoa, Ferrin should have cut a stately figure herself, her bearing was that of royalty deigning to speak to lowly peasants, but there was no question that Rinoa was the one everyone's eyes were fixated on.

Squall blinked, then again. He shook his head slightly, and suddenly he saw what was happening. He saw the far-away look in Rinoa's eyes, and the way she seemed to drift down the gangplank, as if unaware of the existence of such a thing as 'ground'. Squall realized that the sorceress was—consciously or unconsciously—manifesting her powers in a manner that captivated all those present. It was indeed, impressive, and Squall had to concentrate to keep from falling into the same open-mouthed, dumbfoundedness all others present were currently expressing. 

As Rinoa and Ferrin made their way up the docks to a waiting limousine, not a single camera flashed, not a single question was shouted. As she passed, a spark of recognition crept into Rinoa's eyes, and she nodded with a tiny smile to Zell, Selphie, and Irvine—seeming to return to earth momentarily. Then her eyes fell upon Squall, and Rinoa was gone again, she glided by him without the slightest gesture of acknowledgement. _What I deserve, what I wanted._ But that didn't make it any less painful. 

As the door to Ferrin and Rinoa's limousine slammed shut, the spell was broken, and a thousand voices shouted for attention at once.

"Was that the sorceress, Rinoa!?"

"Is it true she has junctioned the power of two other sorceresses?"

"Will the sorceress be taking over the negotiations for Timber?"

Doing their best to hold the perimeter as they fell back toward a second waiting limousine, the four SeeDs exchanged amazed glances. Rinoa had changed!

As the two vehicles sped away from the docks—headed toward the center of Dollett—Selphie exclaimed. "Wow! This is great, our own private limousine! Is this real leather?!" She bounced on soft cushion. 

"That's right, complements of Galbadia and President Pro Tem Caraway." The driver said over his shoulder. "Woa!"

Ahead of them, the lead limousine's brake lights flashed bright red. The second car slid to a halt inches from its rear bumper. From the lead car, Ferrin emerged—followed by Rinoa. The SeeDs were already out of their transport, and moving forward, preparing to draw their weapons and protect the leaders. Behind them, the remainder of the negotiation team also alighted from their vehicle. 

"Rather than accept handouts from the Galbadian government, I believe we shall walk, thank you very much!" Ferrin could be heard angrily chastising the driver of the lead car. The driver threw up his hands, apparently saying something in return, then the vehicle sped off, followed in short order by the remaining two cars. 

"Aw, man!" Zell said.

Squall shrugged. "It's her business." He motioned the SeeDs into a diamond defensive escort, and the group continued into town on foot.

As the group made their way up the wide cobbled streets of Dollett, they drew more than a few wondering glances, and even more incredulous stares. Squall knew they must have looked fairly ridiculous as they passed by the endless rows of street side cafés, shops, and dozens of vendors all pausing from hawking their wares to stare at the newcomers for a moment. He shrugged. If this was how Ferrin wanted to walk to the conference center, well, then she and her escort would walk to the conference center. 

Selphie was doing her best to look like a staid SeeD member under the scrutiny of what seemed like every last man, woman, and child in Dollett. As the group continued on, she noticed that people's stares were no longer falling on the group of negotiators and their escorts, but rather were now directed down towards the ocean. Some were pointing and whispering to one another. Selphie turned. "WOW! Look at that!" 

Everyone followed her pointing finger. Far out to sea—near the horizon, a large, low, conical white cloud was racing toward the town. At the tip of the cone formed by the condensed moisture, a red speck appeared. "Look, look you guys! It's the Ragnarok!" Selphie hopped up and down with excitement.

It was indeed the large space plane that Esthar had constructed to carry the sealed Sorceress Adel into orbit near the now-destroyed lunar base. The Ragnarok was streaking in low over the ocean at well over the speed of sound, kicking up a great plume of spray with its wake turbulence. As it neared the shore, the ship slowed, and the mach cone cloud disappeared. Drop tanks falling from underwing hardpoints, a full squadron of Esthar's long-range fighter/bombers peeled away from their formation around the spacecraft and, climbing to altitude, raced toward Dollett on full afterburner. As they passed by overhead, a cacophony of sonic booms rattled windows all over the city. The aircraft split into three finger-four formations and slowed to a subsonic cruise. They circled the city like giant hawks, the sun flashing off their metallic wings. 

The airspace around Dollett apparently secure, the Ragnarok approached the city low and slow. Windows were rattled, and guts were shaken again as the Ragnarok cruised overhead, its giant engines emitting a low-frequency roar as they idled. 

As the spacecraft proceeded east, gradually sinking below a row of studio apartments that blocked the group's view of the great ship's landing site, Selphie scuffed a boot on the cobblestones. "We shoulda kept it." 

Overhearing this, Irvine shrugged. "Maybe, but Esthar did pay the garden a pretty nice lump o' cash for its recovery." 

"Yeah, but it was soooo much fun to fly." Selphie pouted.

Eventually, the group reached the famousExtrêmement Coûteux Hotel near downtown Dollett, where the negotiations were to take place. Already parked out front were half a dozen vehicles sporting the official crest of Esthar's government, along with four Galbadian limousines that—Squall imagined—had carried the headmaster and his entourage up from the docks. He frowned at the number and size of the Esthar transports. Either the Ragnarok was much larger than he remembered, or the Estharians had made some modifications in order to fit so many vehicles into the spacecraft's hold. In any case, the delegation from Timber's repainted fishing trawler and five-mercenary escort paled in comparison to the amount of hardware that the Estharians had brought with them.

Two nervous-looking—or so their posture suggested—Esthar guards stood by the lead vehicle while someone rummaged around in the boot. Squall had a sneaking suspicion that—

"Mr. President. Really, can't we rejoin the rest of your escort? I'm sure the bellhops can…" The guard trailed off as a hand from the man waved him off.

"I'm fine, I just want to get this last thing. You can go on in if you want." Even as the man spoke, the posture of the guard indicated that this was not an option. 

Squall nodded. He had been right, it was Laguna Loire. Apparently, even after several dozen odd years as a ruler, the former soldier and journalist still wasn't used to all the trappings of state—or even of high society. Squall was not surprised. 

Laguna finally emerged from behind the front of the vehicle, a nondescript bag clutched in one hand. His eyes lit up as they fell upon the approaching party. Ignoring a shout of protest from his guards, he ran forward to meet the delegation from Timber. "Squall! Hey, good to see ya pal!" He came up short before Squall and stuck out a hand. 

Squall regarded him coldly. "President Loire." 

A shadow of something crossed Laguna's face, then it was gone. "Yeah… right." As his guards ran up, Laguna turned to the rest of the group. "Selphie, Irvine, Zell. Good to see all you guys again." 

The four SeeDs nodded, shook hands, and smiled as Laguna made rounds among the group. 

Finally, the head of state of Esthar made his way around the perimeter of acquaintances and moved toward the negotiators. "Uh… Rinoa, right?" Said the president—looking quite unpresidential as usual. 

Rinoa smiled, and in a gesture from nearly forgotten days in Deling, curtsied slightly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, President Loire."

Laguna quickly withdrew his hand and, in a gesture from all-to-well remembered days in Esthar, bowed graciously—if awkwardly—from the waist, sweeping one arm out from his side. As he rose, he turned to Ferrin. "I've heard much about you, Ms Sosare." Laguna bowed again before the revolutionary leader. 

Ferrin favored him with a smile. "Well, I hope the better part of it was good things. Please, call me Ferrin." She stuck out a hand for a relieved Laguna to shake. 

[][1]After making his way around the remaining negotiators from Timber—his escorts hovering nervously as he made his way around the group—Laguna ushered the group through the tall crystal paneled, gold gilded main doors of the Extrêmement Coûteux . An enormous Persian carpet mural laid over polished marble tile silenced the group's footfalls. A vaulted ceiling covered with fantastic artistry and broken by great oval stained-glass windows soared sixty feet over their heads. Opal pillars inlaid with spider webs of silver and gold supported a balcony that ran the length of the rear wall of the cavernous entryway, the contents of which was hidden by a plethora of indoor flora. Three grand pianos arranged in a circle to the left of the center of the great hall were quietly caressed by tuxedoed pianists, their harmony intermingling with the chiming of falling water from a dozen marble fountains scattered amongst the rich furniture. 

Rinoa, Selphie, and Zell gasped. Squall and Irvine raised an eyebrow. Ferrin and Laguna smiled. The rest of the party was stunned into silence by the splendor of the Extrêmement Coûteux. 

Eventually, the group managed to overcome their initial astonishment, and were each escorted by an individual hotel staff member to their respective rooms. An entire floor had been reserved for the Timber delegation, all compliments of the Galbadian Government. Ferrin frowned at this, but remained silent after receiving pleading glances from every member of the Timber group except Irvine and Squall. Laguna and his guards left the group and headed for the wing of suites that had been reserved for the Esthar representatives.

After the group reached their floor, Squall nodded with approval as the their hotel escort informed them that the SeeDs would be assigned the rooms nearest the elevators. The unspoken reason being, of course, that any potential assassin would have to pass by the mercenaries before being able to reach any of the Timber delegates. Selphie's suite happened to be first, and Squall waved her permission to leave the group. 

As the door to the hall slowly swung shut, the sound of Selphie's happy screams drifted into the hall. "WAIII!! LOOK AT THIS PLACE!!" 

Irvine grinned, and Squall resisted an urge to place a hand over his face. 

Zell's room was next, and his screams were no less reserved. This time Squall allowed himself the gesture.

After Irvine had entered his own lodging, Squall waved off his own escort, who simply nodded and gave him the key, then disappeared after informing Squall that his bags would be brought up from their vessel in short order. As each delegate was shown their room, Squall entered first and made a precursory security check of the suite. The hotel staff looked nonplussed at this—as did the rest of the Timber delegation at being made to wait in the hall until Squall finished his check of each room. He shrugged. _Tough. My people know what they're doing, but I want to personally make sure that nothing goes wrong here._

Rinoa's suite was last. _Naturally._ As he finished his check, Squall paused for a moment at the door. He looked over his shoulder at Rinoa, but her back was turned to him, he had the feeling she had been that way ever since the previous night. He si—_No. I'm not going to sigh, I'm just not going to think about it._ He forced himself to step out into the hall without a word.

Squall made his way down the hall. _Better start the rotating shifts._ Squall stopped before Selphie's door and knocked twice. The door opened just far enough for Selphie to stick her head out. Looking slightly guilty, she spoke. "Hiya Squall, need something?" 

Squall rolled his eyes. "Selphie, would you tell Irvine, we're starting the shift schedule, he's on watch. If anyone wants to leave, have him come and get me, I'm on escort." 

Selphie looked scandalized. "What makes you think he's—"

"Sure thing, Boss." Irvine's voice floated out from the depths of the suite.

Selphie blushed.

"Thanks." Squall said, and returned to his room.

Upon entering his room, Squall found his equipment already stowed neatly against a large cherry dresser. The suite was impressive, he had to admit as he unpacked his few personal items. There were four separate rooms: a bedroom containing a giant four-poster bed, a wealth of dressers and nightstands, an enormous walk-in closet, and thousands of gil worth in decorations; an entryway/living space with deep plush carpeting on three different levels and heavily upholstered furniture everywhere; a master bath with a swimming pool sized basin set into what looked like a solid chunk of marble; and a smaller bathroom adjoining the bedroom. Finished, he allowed himself a moments rest, laying back on the pleasantly yielding mattress and soft, thick quilts. Eyes closed, Squall's hand drifted to his forehead. _What am I doing? What am I going to do? When these negotiations end, the mission will be over, I'll have to return to the garden… What is Rinoa going to do? Will she go back to Timber? Will she… will she ask me to go with her? If she does… if she doesn't… what am I going to do?_

A bit later in the afternoon, after everyone had unpacked, the Timber delegates—accompanied by their SeeD escorts returned to the hotel's main hall to meet informally with the other negotiator—specifically those from Balamb Garden and Esthar. 

Headmaster Cid and company were the first group to spot the Timber delegation as they emerged from the elevators. As the two groups converged, Selphie, then Rinoa caught Quistis up in a series of hugs, followed by an equivalent attempt by Irvine that acquired him only a brush-off by the SeeD instructor and a dirty look from Selphie. A brown streak raced across the lobby/hall/entryway pursued by a hapless bellhop. 

"Oh Angelo!" Rinoa exclaimed as the ecstatic canine ran circles around her barking excitedly. Amidst the happy babble that ensued, Zell gave Quistis his usual handshake while she, Rinoa and Selphie attempted to hold a three-way conversation. Meanwhile, the headmaster was bowing and introducing the remaining SeeDs to Ferrin and the Timber delegation while the revolutionary leader reciprocated by introducing the members of her party. The President of Esthar, Laguna Loire, and his cabinet, Kiros Seagill and Ward Zabac, attempting unsuccessfully to evade their enormous entourage, chose that moment to arrive on the scene as well, adding to the chaos. 

Through it all, Ferrin began to feel quite encouraged. Initially, she had feared Timber would be forced to negotiate from a position of relative weakness compared to the leverage that Balamb Garden—with its legions of professional soldiers—and Esthar—with its still powerful military and advanced technological capacity—would be able to exert. However, as the negotiations teams made introductions, and warmed to each other, it seemed that Timber would be included in a united front of deliberations against the Galbadians. 

Eventually, the introductions made, the group split, Cid, Ferrin, Rinoa, and Laguna—accompanied by Ward and Kiros—found their way to a set of chairs and began discussing strategy for the upcoming negotiations, the remainder of the delegations from Timber and Esthar kept to themselves for the most part—discussing the same issues—and the SeeDs clustered together, catching up on the events that had transpired over the past days.

Squall followed the SeeDs, of course, but he kept a few paces back from the group, always keeping Rinoa in the corner of his eye, and participating in the conversation as much as was usual for him; not at all. 

In this manner, the negotiations passed. Laguna, Cid, Rinoa and Ferrin, or 'the Big Four' as the press came to call them, lead the talks. Surprisingly, the Galbadian representatives put up very little initial resistance. As the conference got underway, the delegations were each relegated a quadrant of tables that were arranged in a circular pattern in the Extrêmement Coûteux's main conference center—a separate complex adjoining the hotel. The room was round, with descending levels of steps to a central dais, which rose a few feet above the lowest level of the floor on hydraulic lifts. This design gave the speaker a fairly good level of eye contact with whichever half of the room they happened to be facing as they were neither looking up at their audience nor staring down upon their heads. The arrangement proved to be perfect for the representatives of all factions except for Galbadia, as speakers from Balamb, Esthar, and Timber always addressed their comments and complaints to the Galbadian Quadrant of the room, while the Galbadians were forced to twist back and forth during their general addresses as they had to speak to an audience arranged at 270 degrees all around them. 

Watching from the wings, Squall observed Rinoa's first address to the assembly with a sense of awe. As the sorceress approached the dais, it became apparent to Squall that she was again acting under the influence of her magic. Again, she managed to captivate the attention of everyone in the large conference hall without saying a word. When Rinoa did speak, even with the electronic amplification system turned off, it seemed—to each and every delegate—as if she were standing directly before them, addressing them personally as she spoke. Somehow, Rinoa managed to keep eye contact—and give the impression of an intense and focused gaze—with every single person in the room. She outlined the injustices Timber had suffered at the hands of the Galbadian occupiers, the damage caused by the Galbadian siege of Timber City, and the immeasurable expense, hardship, and loss suffered by the natives of Timber because of Galbadian actions. She then stated Timber's terms of independence, and restitution from Galbadia. All during her address, it seemed Squall—and every other person present—had never heard of logic so sound as what was being spoken by the sorceress. At the end of her address, Rinoa received a standing ovation from all members of the Timber, Balamb, and Esthar delegations, and even the Galbadians found themselves strangely compelled to offer up a grudging round of applause. 

From that point on, the Galbadian's position became dimmer and dimmer as each country outlined its own complaints, terms, and conditions. Esthar was specifically demanding that control of the Lunatic Pandora be returned to them, or that the relic be completely destroyed. They also demanded compensation for the destruction of the incredibly expensive Lunar Base and the devastation wrought by the monster attacks on Esthar City and the surrounding areas—which they claimed resulted directly from the Galbadian's triggering of the Lunar Cry. In return, Esthar would be willing to sign a peace treaty ending all hostilities between the two nations. They also seemed open to the idea of the opening of a rail line into Esthar and the resumption of trade and technological exchange between Esthar and Galbadia.

Balamb Garden's demands—as outlined by the headmaster Cid Kramer, included the return of Galbadia Garden to the former students and SeeDs of that garden, and that control of Galbadia Garden be turned over to Balamb Garden staff. Cid also required Galbadia to pay monetary restitutions to Trabia and Balamb Gardens for the made during the recent hostilities. In return, Balamb Garden would not seek to pursue a course of offensive actions and surgical strikes within Galbadia aimed at toppling the current government. This drew murderous mutters from the Galbadian delegation, but there was little they could do to prevent such actions by the mobile garden and they knew it. 

Throughout the course of the negotiations, Squall kept to the wings, always within eyesight of Rinoa, but never too close. He haunted the proceedings as her shadow, a displaced doppelganger that trailed her wherever she went. He changed the SeeDs' rotating watch schedule so that he was on duty throughout the night and early-morning hours. Midnight always found Squall pacing off the distance from the elevators to Rinoa's room and back again, weary, sad, and heartsick. He polished the knob of her door thousands of times a night with his palm, never quite daring to turn the knob. 

As the talks dragged on, Squall became the resident ghost. He would drift from place to place, as if towed along by some invisible force that kept him near the sorceress Rinoa at all times. Squall ate little, talked not at all, and rarely slept. The pallor that descended over his features did nothing to dispel the ethereal aura forming about him. 

The SeeDs, of course, noticed the change in their leader, and one-by-one each attempted—in their own manner—to bring Squall out of the deep funk that he had slipped into. None were successful. Squall would stand, staring sightlessly straight through them as they questioned, cajoled, and exhorted Squall to talk to them, to Rinoa, to Cid, to anyone. Eventually, Rinoa would leave that particular room, and Squall would raise a hand for silence, then drift away from whoever happened to be speaking at him at the moment.

Finally, realizing they would get nothing from Squall, the SeeDs chose to have Quistis broach the subject to Rinoa. 

During a recess in the proceedings, Quistis approached Rinoa. She was painfully aware of Squall's gaze from across the room. "Hi, Rinoa." 

The sorceress looked up from the small pad of paper on which she had been idly doodling. "Hi, Quistis. What's up?" Rinoa motioned to an empty chair. "Have a seat."

As Quistis lowered herself into the indicated piece of furniture, she cast about for the best words to express herself. "Uh… Rinoa, hm… This is kind of difficult to say…" She winced and started over. "What I mean is, I don't really know how to start…"

"Oh, Quis, we're all friends here." Rinoa flashed a little smile. "Go ahead and spit it out."

Quistis drew in a fortifying breath. "Well, ok. Uh… have you noticed anything—different about Squall lately?"

"Oh, you mean the skulking around the conference, how he doesn't talk to anyone, and how he's totally withdrawn?" Rinoa tried to make light of the situation, but Quistis could see the tiny lines of worry that crossed her forehead. "He seems to be operating in full 'Squall' mode, I guess." 

"Yeah, I know that's pretty much normal for him, but we're all worried, I mean, something's really bothering him and I… well… it might affect his performance if there's an emergency." That wasn't what Quistis really wanted to say, but it seemed, to her, the safest way of expressing the SeeDs' concern. 

Rinoa looked sideways at Quistis. _Affect his performance? But that's not really what she means._ She sighed.

"Well… we were all wondering, you know, I mean we don't want to be nosy but…" 

"Do I know why he's acting like this?" Rinoa finished for Quistis. She sighed again. "Yes… yes, I do." Rinoa's hand unconsciously had found its way to the delicate links of metal she wore about her neck. She absently fingered the engraved metal circlet that hung from the chain. _Quistis, do you know why Squall has to be like this? Do you know how to make him change? Is there anything, anything at all, that I could do to… _"I'm sorry, I think this might all be my fault."

Quistis frowned. "No, Rinoa, don't worry, it's not your p—"

"Quistis, I'll… I'll see what I can do." Rinoa interrupted, her gaze falling back down to the pad of paper before her. _God, Squall. Did you ever even want any of this? I mean, I was the one who wanted you to dance… I was the one who brought you to Timber… All your friends, they were the ones trying so desperately to put us together… But all those other times… When you carried me across Esthar… When you jumped from that life pod… When you came to the sorceress memorial to get me out… Was it all just…just doing your job? Were you just following orders? What about that night on the garden's upper deck…during that storm… after the Timber revolution… what was that?_

Quistis watched the Sorceress as she became lost in her own thoughts. "Thank you, Rinoa." She said, rose, and left. 

Rinoa did not hear her go. _What are you doing now, Squall? Why do you torture yourself so? Is It because of your duty… is it because you are bound to me as my knight? Is that what keeps you here? Or is it… could it be… because of me? _Rinoa looked up, she turned her head to where she knew Squall would be. A tiny hopeful smile… Squall might as well have been carved from a piece of pale granite. Rinoa looked away biting down on her tongue. The pain was a welcome relief.

In the early morning of the final day of negotiations, Rinoa stood on the balcony of the Extrêmement Coûteux's main hall, gazing over the rooftops of Dollett through a giant pane of crystal set into the hotel's forward wall. Far out on the horizon, a fiery orange crescent radiated the first rays of sunlight of the new day as it slowly ballooned into a brilliant sphere. The water slowly brightened from black to silver then to aqua as the shadows of Dollett's buildings gradually shortened in the wakening day. She spoke. "Squall, the Galbadian president has asked me to return to Deling." 

From behind Rinoa, Squall nodded. He had seen the short conference between Rinoa and a representative of Galbadia. In fact, he had been keenly aware of the Galbadian's proximity to Rinoa, his own distance from the pair, and the length of time it would have taken him to draw his weapon and cross that distance should the representative prove a bit too hostile. "They can't force you to go." His voice was rusty from disuse.

Rinoa looked out at the mist among the docks, slowly being burned away by the rising sun. "I know. I think I should go. There's something…" She trailed off. 

Squall stood.

"I'm going to Deling." Rinoa said at length. "What are you going to do?"

Squall bit back a sigh. "The mission is ending. I'll be ordered back to Balamb Garden." He paused. "But I will accompany you to Deling, if that is where you wish to go." 

"Why?" 

"It is my…" _…duty. Say it! Who cares if it's not true!? _"It is what I have to do." Squall finally said.

Back turned to Squall, Rinoa's eyes closed. _I'll miss you, Squall._ "No it isn't." 

"What do you mean?" 

Instead of answering, Rinoa opened one hand, allowing two objects to fall onto the mahogany surface of a small end table with a metallic clinking. She turned toward the stairs. "Goodbye, Squall." Rinoa walked away.

As Rinoa descended the richly carpeted stairway, Squall approached the table. He gathered the fallen objects up in one hand. Two identical rings—each with the figure of a lion worked into the metal—rang quietly as they touched in Squall's palm. Rinoa had released her knight.

Rinoa reached the main floor. _Squall… stop me. Call out my name. _

Squall placed a hand on the balcony railing, below him, he saw Rinoa heading toward the elevators. _Rinoa! Wait! Don't go!_

Rinoa looked up. For an instant their eyes met. The words formed on Squall's lips… and he bit down on them ruthlessly. He tasted his own blood, and then Rinoa was gone. 

As the negotiations wrapped up, the four factions found that they had, somehow, managed to hammer out a form of treaty that was acceptable to all. No one could deny that the document would not have existed were it not for some extraordinary concessions made by the Galbadian delegation. Included in the document was the decommissioning of the Lunatic Pandora. The great powerplants that provided energy to the relic were to be removed and dismantled within a rigorous timetable; the remaining shell of the Pandora would be forever grounded in a deserted section of the Centra continent. The defunct husk would then be overseen by a joint force of Galbadian and Esthar soldiers. Research teams would be allowed access to the remains of the device based on merit studies of their proposals—reviewed by both the Esthar and Galbadian governments. Galbadia also agreed to provide capital backing, to those businesses that had suffered financial losses, in the form of interest free loans, and the purchasing of large amounts of 'Restitution Stock' in the companies. The RS would give the Galbadians little or no leverage over the companies, but it would allow them to collect dividends should the institutions prosper. In return, Esthar would de-mobilize a percentage its armed forces and cease the hit-and-run attacks it's navy had been utilizing to harass Galbadian coastal defenses. 

Galbadia also had agreed to return full control of Galbadia Garden to the garden's displaced students within the next three months. It also agreed to provide a fair monetary recompense to Trabia and Balamb Gardens for damage incurred during the fighting. In return, Balamb Garden was not to participate in covert anti-Galbadian operations within Galbadia for at least one year, and it was also required that Trabia Garden not attempt to execute any sort of vengeance strikes within Galbadia. That Trabia Garden was in no condition to do anything of the sort was a fact that Cid had carefully hidden from the Galbadians.

As for Timber, Galbadia agreed to recognize the nation as an independent state, and to withdraw any remaining forces from within Timber. All Timber nationals would be released from Galbadian prisons and returned to Timber. Galbadia also agreed to provide construction equipment and capital on a lend-lease basis to Timber to assist in the reconstruction of areas damaged by fighting. In return, the newly formed Timber government pledged to release all Galbadian POWs on a set timetable.

So by all rights, Rinoa should have been happy. Something she had been fighting for half her life, she had finally helped attain. Timber, her home—or at least that was how she thought of it—was free at last. Galbadia was making concessions left and right, and she had even been invited to Deling City on a mission that would—most likely—allow her to assist her countrymen even more. But Rinoa didn't feel happy, instead, she felt lost, frightened, alone. She had said her goodbyes to everyone; Ferrin, Cid, Quistis, Selphie, Zell, Irvine, and even President Laguna. Rinoa smiled sadly, she had hoped to speak with the Sorceress Ellone again, but the Esthar Government—essentially translating into Laguna Loire—had feared for her safety in a territory with such close proximity to Galbadia, and so, Ellone was back in Esthar and Rinoa was walking the hall of the floor of the Timber Delegation for the last time. At the fourth door before the elevators Rinoa paused. Of its own accord, he hand drifted to the knob. She let it hang there for a moment, knowing she would never turn the handle. Beside her, Angelo sniffed at the door, then barked once. Rinoa thought she heard a sound from inside, quickly she shushed Angelo, but instead of hurrying toward the elevators, she lingered a moment. _Did he hear? Will he come out?_

Eventually, she let out a long-held breath. Head down, she made her way into the elevator. 

Squall stared at the ornate clock ticking sluggishly from atop the nightstand. _She'll be getting her things together now… _He wrapped his hands around an ornamental wooden wing carved into the pole from which one of the bedposts had been made as if to anchor himself. _Now she's in the hall…_ Squall's grip tightened. He would not move, he swore to himself. _She should be nearly to the elevators now… _From outside Squall's door came the unmistakable sound of a dog's bark. The carving snapped off in his hands. He rose to his feet turning toward the suite's entryway. _No! _Squall jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and forced himself to turn away. Between the fingers of his right hand, he felt the cool touch of two smooth hoops of metal. _I am alone… I am safe… I will be ok on my own… _Squall lied silently to himself. Squall began playing a small game with himself. The rules were; for every 10 ticks of the clock, he allowed himself one step towards the door, if he stepped before the tenth tick, he had to take two steps back towards the bed. An eternity after he begun the game, Squall lost to himself as his hand fell upon the suite's doorknob. He waited for the tenth tick…

The door to the emergency stairway crashed open, as a black-jacketed figure rocketed down toward the lobby of the Extrêmement Coûteux. Paying no attention to the startled stares of hotel guests chatting and relaxing in the main lobby, Squall dashed across the cavernous room and threw himself out the gilded glass doors to the street, arm outstretched, mouth open readying a call. An empty street greeted him. She was gone. 

Squall felt a presence behind him. He did not turn. 

"You're a fool for letting her go." The president of Esthar leaned idly against one of the stone pillars supporting the Extrêmement Coûteux's elaborate streetside façade.

Squall's words formed on his lips unbidden. "You know nothing about me, or my situation." 

Laguna's eyebrow rose a hair. "Oh no?" He pulled a hand from a pocket, examining the bit of lint that he had extracted. "You'd be surprised what I know."

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" Squall gritted, still refusing to turn to face the president.

Laguna sighed. "Squall, let me give you a bit of fa—friendly advice." He paused to flick the fuzzy ball from his fingers. "Whatever it is that is keeping you from her… get over it." 

Now Squall did turn. "That's your advice?" He demanded. "'Get over it'?" Baring his teeth, he spat, "I'll take that under advisement, Mr. President." He turned to leave.

Laguna's voice followed Squall. "If you don't, if you lose her because of it, you'll never forgive yourself." As the door to the hotel shut, Laguna continued quietly to himself. "I know… I never will."

Rinoa sat huddled into the corner of the passenger compartment of the long black Galbadian limousine as it rolled across the countryside near Dollett. Angelo was lying across the remainder of the rear seat, head on paws, enjoying the pleasant—if absentminded—ear-scratching Rinoa was administering. Rinoa clung to the comforting presence of her companion as her mind repeated unhappy thoughts to her. _He didn't come… I waited for so long… He doesn't care… I was so sure he would… He didn't come…_ She sighed—unhappy, scared—and hugged Angelo's neck. "Promise you won't abandon me, ok, Angelo?" Though somewhat strangled by the embrace, Angelo managed to give Rinoa's face a reassuring lick.

In the driver's seat of the limousine, the Galbadian chauffer sipped at his morning coffee, keeping his eyes on rear of the leading armored escort, bored out of his mind. Suddenly, the vehicle ahead slowed. The driver stepped on his own brakes and craned his neck to peer around the escort vehicle. Ahead, in the middle of the road, someone had parked a sky-blue minivan across both lanes of the highway. Some idiot was standing in front of the rental van, arms folded across his chest, watching as the entire convoy halted and soldiers poured out of the escort vehicles. "Not another stupid protestor." The Galbadian driver muttered to himself, as he shifted into reverse—followed the directions of a soldier waving at him to back away from the potential threat. As an afterthought, the driver locked the limousine's doors. He smiled to himself at his initiative as he heard the handle of the rear passenger door working. "No, Miss Heartilly, we'll handle this, you just stay put back there." He said, keying the limousine's intercom. The driver neglected, however, to lock the limousine's sunroof. He sipped at his coffee again, the army boys would get rid of this troublemaker in short order. 

[][2]The Chauffer shouted in alarm and splashed the hot beverage all over himself as two booted feet thudded down on the windshield in front of him, followed by four furry paws. The limousine rocked slightly as Rinoa and Angelo jumped from the hood of the car to the ground and sprinted past the shouting soldiers. 

As she had a seeming lifetime ago in a cabin aboard a rebel railroad car, Rinoa threw herself into the arms of a taciturn 5'8" eighteen-year-old SeeD from Balamb Garden. Only this time, the arms of her scarred knight did not seek to hold her back, rather drawing her into a whirling embrace as she locked her hands behind his back and held on as if the world would end should she ever let go. 

"Rinoa! God, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" The year older—and much more loquacious Squall whispered into her ear as they clung to each other. "I've been such an idiot." Squall continued as Angelo ran rings around the pair barking enthusiastically. Rinoa was too happy to speak, so Squall continued with the little breath he could force past their wonderfully tight embrace. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"No, you big dummy! I'm just hugging you so tight to make you asphyxiate!" Rinoa gasped happily. 

The soldiers ringing the pair, with much eye-rolling and shrugging, slowly piled back into the escort APCs as the leader of the Galbadian negotiations team—a bald, officious little man named Tatus Sylvania—approached the pair. Folding his arms, he regarded the sorceress and knight. "Well then, if we're about done with the tearful reunions…" Getting no response, he tried a different tack. "So, I take it the SeeD will be accompanying us the rest of the way to Deling?"

Rinoa finally looked back at Tatus. _Go away, you annoying little turd._ "Yes." She said instead.

"Well then, whenever you two are ready, the rest of the convoy is waiting to leave." He huffed.

"Do you want me to kill him for you?" Squall whispered. 

"Please do. I don't think anyone would mind too much." Rinoa snickered.

Back in the limousine at last, Rinoa again attached herself to Squall. A wet nose poked her side accompanied by a small whine. "Oh, don't worry, Angelo, I haven't forgotten about you!" Suddenly the canine regretted drawing attention to himself as he was smooshed against Rinoa's side by her free arm. She gave a happy squeeze that forced the breath out of man and dog alike and reached forward with her foot to tap on the tinted glass that separated driver from passengers. "Ok, I've got both my big toys, we can go now." She giggled.

Happily strangulated by the sorceress, Squall was surprised at how much he liked being referred to in such a manner.

Thirty or forty miles later, Rinoa allowed Squall to take his first full breath. "I'm so glad you came back." Rinoa sighed happily. Her eyes twinkled. "I guess this means I won't have to hunt you down and kill you now." Squall looked a bit confused at that. Rinoa poked him. "You know, if, if you love something, let it go, if it doesn't come back…"

"I thought that was supposed to end with 'it was never really yours to begin with'." Squall frowned.

Rinoa stuck out her tongue at him. "Well, I like my version better." She reached over and hugged Squall again. "Besides, I always knew you were mine." 

_So did I. _

Rinoa repeated happily as she squeezed him again. "Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!" Angelo shot Squall a sympathetic look. 

When Squall could breath again, he smiled—it took a lot of effort. _Has it really been so long since I--_

Rinoa was on him like greased lighting. "Hey! No brooding!" She pointed a finger. "This is my seat, and I say it's a 'no brooding zone' so you have to tell me what you're thinking." 

This time, Squall's features cracked into a genuine smile. "Ok, your grand exalted sorceresship. I see you've gone from buttons to backseats." 

Rinoa beeped Squall's nose. "No changing the subject. Tell me what you're thinking, or I'll use my powers to turn your nose into a… a… well, something that you wouldn't want to have as a nose."

Squall threw up his hands in surrender. "Ok. I was just thinking about us." Rinoa's eyes lit up at the word. Squall took a fortifying breath, he was going to tell her all of it, she deserved as much after everything that had happened. "Rinoa, I… I don't think I can live without you anymore. I…" Squall looked down at his feet. "…I tried really hard to, and I'm sorry that I hurt you." He paused. "Do you remember what we talked about when we were on our way back from the Lunar Base aboard the Ragnarok?" Rinoa nodded solemnly. "Well, you were right. You were right then, and you were right that evening aboard the Ambassador I. You did get—you have gotten—you are too close. I got scared."

"You ran…" Rinoa trailed off.

Squall nodded slightly. "But I didn't get very far. I couldn't."

The corners of Rinoa's mouth turned down just the slightest bit. "You were bound to me, you were my knight." 

"No… it was something else… something more." He paused. "Rinoa, I…"

Rinoa looked up, she looked straight into Squall's eyes, into his soul. _Oh please say it! _But she saw the slightest edges of panic start to creep into them. _He's not ready yet…I don't know if I'm ready either…_ Again, Rinoa allowed him to escape. "It's ok. I understand." Rinoa hugged him again.

A relieved Squall spoke over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm such a coward."

Rinoa broke the tension by giving Squall a playful shove. "Oh yeah, you're just a big chicken!" She grinned at him. "Mr. 'I killed an evil sorceress from the future', Mr. 'I fought for a small country's independence'" She began poking Squall again. "Mr. 'I like to run around at night attacking dinosaurs in the dark to work out my aggression.'" 

Squall looked startled. "You knew about that?" 

"Of course, silly, Quistis told me." She laughed at him. "Mr. 'I didn't know girls talked about guys when they're not around.'" She sighed slightly and added. "Mr. 'I like to take sorceresses on emotional roller-coaster rides.'"

"Not any more." Squall guided Rinoa's chin up with a finger until their eyes met again. "Rinoa, I promise. I'll take some very good advice someone gave me once. Whatever happens to us, I can handle it. Whatever happened in my past, I'll get over it." He paused. "I'm not going to leave you ever again." 

"Oh, Squall." Suddenly a thought occurred to Rinoa. She put both hands on the sides of Squall's head, trapping him, and moved so their noses touched. "I need you to make one more promise, ok?" Squall nodded—careful not to bump heads. "If I kiss you now, you have to promise not to say something totally inane afterward. Ok?" Squall crossed his heart with a free hand, and Rinoa did.

[Chapter 4][3]

   [1]: a1\Gallery\laguna.htm
   [2]: a1\Gallery\squall.htm
   [3]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/four.htm



	4. Fidelitas

** **

**Chapter 4:**

** **

**Fidelitas**

Balamb Garden Headmaster, Cid Kramer sat in the noisy hold of the marine landing craft, leaning forward, chin resting on hands. Though he was happy with the results of the peace talks, and though he was looking forward to his return to the garden—to seeing Edea again—a frown creased his features. He resisted the urge to get up and pace about the small cabin. The edge of a wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He still felt it, felt the invisible touch of spider webs around his mind, tugging him back; back to the garden, back to her side. He had resisted the urge—as per his sorceress's orders—for so many years… but the feeling never lessened, one never became used to it. He imagined—had anyone been present—the same look he had seen in Squall's eyes—in his own eyes in the mirror—would be manifesting itself now. He sighed. _I've learned to live with it, when will he? _

He hadn't been surprised when he had heard the booted footfalls of the gunblade specialist and the knock at the door of his room in the Extrêmement Coûteux. He had known why Squall had come. 

"Sir, the Timber delegation is back aboard their vessel. I believe my mission is complete." Squall had hardly even taken a breath before continuing. "Headmaster Kramer, I am requesting permission for a leave of absence from the garden."

Cid had, of course, understood why, even before Squall spoke. "Rinoa's not returning to Balamb." It had not been a question.

"No, Sir." Squall had said.

Perhaps it had been inevitable, Cid reflected. It had certainly seemed so at the time. "Squall, I'm afraid something has come up. I can't grant you a leave right now." Cid had said, following the script he knew had to be played out. "Permission denied. You and your squad are ordered to return to Balamb Garden as additional escort to our negotiations team."

Cid could've spoken the words with Squall. "Then…" Squall had sighed. "…I hereby resign my commission as a SeeD officer. You'll find all my accounts in order." Squall's hand had hesitated only a second before unfastening the badges of rank attached to his uniform. "…I'm sorry, Sir." He regretfully laid the pinnings down. "This is something I have to do." With one final salute, the knight had turned, without ceremony, and departed. 

As Squall's hand touched the doorknob, Cid had tried one last ad-lib. "Squall, are you sure you are doing what's right?"

Squall had not turned. "No, I'm doing what I…" 

"…want." Headmaster Kramer said, the word immediately muffled by the throbbing of the watercraft's engines that filled the compartment. _Can it really be starting again so soon? Am I the one who will have to stop it this time?_

A few minutes later, Quistis, Zell, Selphie, and Irvine climbed dutifully down the ladder leading to the vessel's troop compartment from the upper deck where they had waited the amount of time Cid had requested. Once all had filed into the, now somewhat cramped, hold, as one, they stiffened to attention and saluted the headmaster. 

Quistis spoke for the group. "Requested SeeDs reporting as ordered, Sir." 

Cid amicably waved them into the compartment's seats. "It's going to be a bit of ride back to the garden, so we can drop the formalities for now." He pasted a quick smile on his face while he surveyed the group. _Quite a collection... Oh Edea, is this what we had in mind when we founded the Gardens? _The smile became a bit more genuine. _Well, they've certainly proved themselves. Anyway I'm not quite the dashing defender of the realm that I used to be… _Cid knew what Edea's playful response to that would be. 

Quistis cleared her throat, bringing the headmaster back to the room in a hurry. "Oh, excuse me. You'll have to forgive an old man's musings." He placed his hands on his hips. "Thank you all for waiting above while I collected my thoughts. Your outstanding service records aside, I'm sure you're all anxious to know why I requested all of you to return to the garden aboard this particular vessel." Receiving nods all around, Cid continued. "I've called you all here, because there have been developments in Esthar that you all should be made aware of. Before I continue, though, I must receive assurances from all of you, that you will keep the subject of this conversation in complete confidence." 

Zell looked a bit confused, and the headmaster paused while Quistis leaned over and whispered "Secret." 

Zell's—and the solemn nods of all those present met with the headmaster's approval, and he continued. "As you know, the Estharian researcher, Doctor Odine, is more or less responsible for the construction of the device which allowed sorceress Ultimecia to possess sorceresses living in our time." He paused to make sure everyone was with him. "After the recent disturbances in Esthar caused by forces under Ultimecia's control, Doctor Odine attempted to transmit—through his research—a modification to the device in the future. He succeeded. Essentially, as I understand, the modification has allowed the doctor to record the genetic makeup of any person who uses the device." Cid raised a hand. "Don't ask me to explain how it works, the Doctor went into some detail of the device's operations, but I couldn't understand a word of what he was saying." The group nodded at this, they had encountered similar troubles in their dealings with Odine. "The point is, we now know Ultimecia's genetics. After comparing Ultimecia's DNA with the Esthar population database, samples of his own, and samples I sent to him he has found two matches." Cid took a deep breath before continuing. "Doctor Odine has informed me that Squall and Rinoa's DNA sequences are present in Ultimecia's genetics… Ultimecia is a descendant of both Squall and Rinoa." Cid announced.

The thrumming of the vessel's engine seemed incredibly loud in the shocked silence. 

Irvine was the first to speak. "Yee-haw!! Go Squall!!" He slapped his knee. 

From her seat, Selphie somehow managed to kick the gangly sharpshooter. "Shut up! Don't you know what this means!?"

"Hell Yah, Darlin', I know what it means! Atta Boy, Squall!" Irvine retorted.

Zell slapped a gauntleted hand to his face, half in embarrassment, half to hide his amusement. 

Instead of being annoyed, Cid grinned as well. _So this is how they do it, this is how they take so much, and then keep coming back for more. Never underestimate the power of humor. _"Well, I suppose that's **one** way to look at it, Irvine." 

But Quistis was on her feet, one hand unconsciously at her mouth. "Headmaster, you don't… I mean…" She shook her head in disbelief. "We aren't going to be…"

Cid raised his hands, shaking his head. "No, no, I'm not going to order you to eliminate Squall or Rinoa." That sentence brought the rest of the group up short. "I've thought a lot about this, and there's no way we can justify that kind of action… it's just not… we created the garden to stop evil sorceresses, Rinoa and Squall are our friends and allies. There's no justification for that sort of action." Cid repeated. _Or maybe I just don't want there to be…_

"Whew! That's a relief!" Selphie said. 

"Man, I see why you don't want us telling anyone." Zell spoke up.

"If anyone finds out…" Quistis trailed off.

Cid nodded. "All joking aside, I can't emphasize the sensitivity of this information. If this were to leak out… A lot of people died because of Ultimecia. That's—that's in the past and we can't change it," _Are you so sure?_ "but some people might not see it that way." Cid spread his hands. "Doctor Odine has agreed that this information should be kept secret—he seems to think there could be some sort of time disaster if anyone in this period should try to change the future, and thus, affect the past." Cid shrugged. "It's enough to make this old man's head hurt just to start thinking in circles like that." He finished.

Quistis's brow furrowed. "Sir, I appreciate that you trust us enough to inform us of these things but…" 

"But wouldn't it be safer if I hadn't told you all?" Cid sighed. "Yes, it would have been. But I believe it will assist you in your next mission if you know all the facts." He gestured to the group, palms outward. "You have all proven yourselves to be top-notch SeeD operatives, and I know you are all quite capable of operating in an information vacuum, but I thought you deserved to know." _And I thought it might help, if this act plays out in the manner I fear it will._

"So we're heading out on assignment again?" Irvine leaned back, placing his feet on the low table bolted to the compartment's floor. 

Cid nodded. "I'm sorry. No rest for the weary, I'm afraid. As you all know by now, Squall is not returning to the garden."

"He went to Galbadia with Rinoa, right?" Selphie leaned forward in her seat.

"Yes." Cid paused for a moment. "What you may not know, is that Squall has resigned his position as a SeeD operative."

"WHAT!!" Zell jumped to his feet. "Oh, no WAY!! Squall would never do that!"Realizing whom he was talking to, Zell added a belated, "Uh… Sir."

"Squall worked most of his life to be a SeeD—just like the rest of us—and he just threw that all away?" Selphie stood as well.

Quistis shook her head. "I can't believe that. It—It always seemed like being a SeeD was the only thing Squall ever cared about."

Cid spread his hands again. "I'm sorry, but it's true. After receiving the information about Ultimecia's genes from Odine, I felt I had to order him to return to the garden. For some reason, he decided he couldn't follow that order.He severed all his connections with the garden. I don't know what else to tell you." The beginnings of a long silence started to fall in the compartment.

Before the silence could solidify, Irvine spoke up. "So we'll be heading into Galbadia then?" 

In an unconscious nervous gesture, Cid removed his glasses and began polishing them on his shirt. "Yes. You are the most experienced SeeDs I have right now. You've all had experience with infiltration into Galbadia. You will have a one night layover in the garden once we return, then you will depart for Balamb where you will meet three additional agents. They'll be non-SeeDs, but they have extensive knowledge of the Galbadian military and police structure, so you'll be under their command. Follow their orders unless you believe they are endangering the mission. In that case, you have permission to act autonomously. Your team will then take the underwater railway into Timber and on to Galbadia and Deling City. Once in Deling, you will meet up with another SeeD operative."

Quistis looked concerned. "What will our mission be once we reach Deling?"

Cid sighed. "You are to observe the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly and Squall Leonhart. Avoid contact at all costs. You will report back to the garden on a regular basis on the activities of the sorceress and Mr. Leonhart." Cid made an apologetic gesture. "I know it doesn't sound exciting, but I believe it is the only acceptable course of action. The garden's policy will be to stand by, until we can positively identify threats to the garden and the world." Cid paused for a moment and replaced his glasses. "This may end up as a long-term project. We don't know how many generations will pass before Ultimecia will come to power. It may be as few as one, it may be as many as ten, though the abilities of the sorceress Ellone—from which Odine's machine was designed, seem to point toward the near future as opposed to the far." Cid tried to wave away the concerned expressions on the SeeDs faces. "Don't worry. I'm not sending you off on a ten-year mission. You are simply going to observe the initial interactions between the sorceress Rinoa and the Galbadian government. Once things settle down, we'll bring you all back home." Cid's voice hardened just the tiniest fraction. "This garden will be vigilant, perhaps we can prevent the rise of Ultimecia, perhaps we cannot. We will remain on guard, but we will not be embarking on any cross-generational witch-hunts. You are SeeDs, you have been trained to defeat evil sorceresses, not to murder innocents." _Please, dear God, let that be true._ Cid looked the group over, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride at the stoic expressions that had fallen over their faces. These were the best fighters the garden had ever produced, they had been forged by the garden's rigorous training regimen, and tempered in the fires of battle. They would get the job done, no matter what. "I'm sure you all have questions, so let's get them cleared up." The headmaster nodded. "Yes, Zell?"

"Uh, I'm sure there's a really obvious reason why we don't do this, but why don't we just tell Squall and Rinoa what Odine found out?" Zell was still on his feet.

The headmaster gave a quick shake of his head. "We cannot tell them for two reasons. The first is Odine's fear of a time-disruption. If we change things now that affect our past, he thinks that there might be a big enough paradoxical disturbance in the time flow to destroy the world—maybe even the universe."

"Oh. Yeah, we probably want to avoid doing that." Zell interjected. 

The headmaster continued. "And, secondly, can you imagine what living your life under that sort of stigma would be like? I'm not sure how Squall and Rinoa would react to knowing that they were destined to be the cause of so much pain and suffering, and I really don't care to find out."

The group nodded solemnly, satisfied with Cid's answer. 

There was a slight pause before Quistis spoke up. "Headmaster, who are we going to be meeting in Balamb?"

Cid hesitated before speaking. "Uh, I think it would be best if we waited until you meet them for introductions." The SeeDs looked confused at this. Cid quickly changed the subject. "Quistis, you have seniority, so I'm putting you in charge of this mission. Once we reach Balamb Garden, I'll issue you a copy of your orders. They should answer any further questions you come up with. Feel free to call back to the garden if you need any further advice when you're on this assignment. We're not working for a client this time—this is solely a garden operation, so uh…" Cid looked embarrassed. "Um, what I mean to say is, well, try to keep your expenses down to a minimum." _Because we really can't afford this mission._ Cid grimaced inwardly.

"Understood, Sir." 

"Very well. We've got some time before we reach the garden, so until then, you are dismissed." The conversation had removed his earlier comments about formality from everyone's mind, and, falling into familiar patterns, the five SeeDs saluted, and drifted off to various sections of the small, high-speed landing craft to reflect on the meeting.

Several hours later, the Headmaster and SeeDs were back aboard Balamb Garden. As per Quistis's orders, the squad had assembled in a smaller classroom for a private discussion of the upcoming mission. 

Quistis was the last team member to arrive, and—seeing that everyone was present—she turned and locked to classroom door. Turning to face her charges, she took a deep breath. "Alright. You know the situation, you know the mission orders." Quistis spread her hands. "Questions, comments?"

Zell folded his arms across his chest, looking upset. "Yeah, I've got a question." He rotated in his perch atop one of the small room's desks to face the entire group. "On behalf of everyone here, I just wanna say: What the fuck?" He jumped down from the desk. "I mean, come on! We spend all this time fighting beside Squall and Rinoa, we saved the goddamn world together, man! And now we're supposed to go spy on them? Shit!" He slammed a fist down on the desktop. "If it wasn't for them, none of us would here, the planet wouldn't still be here!" He smacked his fist into his palm. "Now, because that fruity Odine says so, we're supposed to believe that those guys are the enemy? Hell, I say we forget this mission and go kick the snot outta that weirdo!" 

To Quistis's consternation, both Selphie and Irvine nodded at this. "Yeah, why don't we just kill Odine, and bust up all his machines. Then we can prevent that whole Ultimecia thing from happening." Irvine, pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against.

"And blow up his lab too!" Selphie added.

Quistis shook her head. "Don't you think the headmaster's already thought of that? The entire Esthar government has probably already gone over this issue as well. We can't do it, and I'll tell you the reasons why." She paused a second to collect her thoughts. "First of all, if we kill Odine and prevent Ultimecia from traveling into the past to possess sorceresses, we create a paradox, because our motivation for attacking his lab stems from the Ultimecia's interference in the past. We might even accidentally create the same time compression that Ultimecia was attempting." The SeeDs paled at that remark. "Secondly, Odine is Esthar's top scientific mind, and Esthar is our ally. We can't just go running around assassinating their scientists and blowing up buildings in their capital." Quistis gestured to emphasize her next point. "And finally, we are SeeDs, we have our orders, and we are going to carry them out no matter what. It is our duty, so I don't want to hear any more about ignoring the mission and going off to do our own thing. The headmaster knows what he is doing." She leveled her gaze at each SeeD in the room. "The garden can't afford loose cannons right now. We are going to carry out our orders to the letter. The headmaster knows what he is doing." She repeated.

…

"Cid, are you sure you know what you are doing?" Edea turned from the large window where she had been watching the swirling ethereal patterns of luminescent plankton in the ghostly glow of the full moon as the waves swirled the tiny creatures around the lower decks of the garden—several stories below.

Cid shook his head as he joined his wife, his arm unconsciously slipping around her waist as he drew up beside her. "No, dear, it's been a very long time since I had any idea what I am doing, what I am supposed to do." He sighed sadly.

Edea's placed her own arm around the dejected headmaster's slumping shoulders. "It's ok, my love, no one really does." She favored him with a sad smile as he laid his head sideways onto her shoulder. "You've done well, my knight. You've saved the world, you've saved the garden, and you… you saved me." 

Cid breathed in the familiar fragrance of Edea's long, dark hair as he sighed. "I wasn't the one who did it. They did, they saved us, they let us be together again."

Edea shook her head slightly. "No, Cid, it was you who saved me. You sent them, you knew exactly how to free me from Ultimecia, they were merely your tools.

The headmaster closed his eyes. "And now I have to turn them upon one another." He paused. "Edea, please, tell me there's some other way, something I've overlooked. They don't deserve this."

The former sorceress turned to face her husband, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "No one does, dear. We didn't deserve it either. I wake up every morning and wonder why I have to face this, wonder why we always have to fight this thing… I don't think it will ever end, my love. All it takes for evil to triumph…"

"…is for good men to do nothing." Cid looked down. "I know, but someday, it would be nice to pass the baton to another…"

"But for now, you will do what is necessary, my knight." Edea guided his chin up until their eyes met. Though her abilities had been passed on to another, the spark of sorcery still lingered in Edea's eyes. "I command it." Edea drew him into a strong embrace. "For now, take comfort in this, in us. Together at last."

Closing his eyes to hold back the glistening moisture, Cid whispered into his wife's dark cascades of hair. "I hear, and obey, my love."

Had he cared enough, Seifer might have felt like kicking himself. However, the presence of his two companions, Rajin and Fujin, along with that of the headmaster of Balamb Garden would have caused him to restrain such emotions—had he been capable of them. He still had difficulty comprehending how he had acted down on the docks. He had come down to greet the delegation from the garden with good intentions. He had practiced what he would say, and what he would not say—he had thoroughly prepared himself to meet cordially with the headmaster, or whatever representative the garden sent. The appearance of Squall had swept all that away. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Seifer had felt his long-absent anger manifesting itself again; again he had ached at the absence of the gunblade from the holster at his side. _And what do I do, the second the headmaster steps off the boat? Make a complete ass of myself. _Seifer felt mildly relieved that the headmaster had asked for a private audience after the group had made its way up to the chateau that the Balamb City government had generously afforded Seifer and his companions upon their return from Galbadia. 

Having waved off his cronies, Seifer turned to the headmaster, who was surveying the spartan furnishings of the main living space of the modest villa. He supposed he should at least make some gesture of cordiality to counter the rocky reunion that had occurred. "Sir, I should apologize for the way I acted down there." Seifer waved toward the oaken door, set several steps above the floor level of the room that lead to the street.

Headmaster Cid Kramer shook his head. "Quite all right. I understand why you acted the way you did."

_You do? Then tell me._ Seifer allowed the silence that fell after the headmaster finished speaking to take root. Finally, he broke it. "I imagine this isn't simply a social call." 

Cid turned from the small window he had been facing. "No, it's not." He folded his arms in front of him. "I've come to ask a favor of you, Mr. Almasy."

Seifer raised an eyebrow. This was not what he had expected. He had been prepared for threats, admonishments, even arrest. For a moment, when the four disguised SeeDs had seized his group, he had believed that the headmaster planned to arrest him. It had not mattered. To Rajin or Fujin, it might have, but not to Seifer—nothing mattered anymore, not since—.

Cid continued. "I want you to return to the garden with me, Seifer. I want you to join SeeD."

Seifer actually laughed at this. "No, Headmaster Kramer, I don't think that's possible." He did not know why the headmaster wanted him back, but he did know all the reasons that prevented him from going. "First of all, I am nineteen now. It's too late for me to graduate, but that's the least of the problems." Seifer paused and turned to face the headmaster. "Those people hate me, and with good cause. I am the one responsible for so many of their friend's deaths. I was the one who directed the attack on Balamb Garden, and I alone bear the responsibility for all the results." He shook his head. "No, even if I wanted to, I could never go back."

Cid held out a hand. "You're wrong, Seifer. SeeD does not distinguish friend or foe that way. The garden has forgiven Edea, the garden can forgive you."

"That's different. Edea had no control over her actions. It wasn't even her, it was—" Seifer could not say the name.

"Ultimecia?" Cid watched Seifer flinch—as if from a physical blow as the name was uttered. "And you, you were different, you had control?"

Seifer's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch.

Cid shook his head again. "No, Seifer. I know how it was for you. I know what you were thinking, I understand you."

In the blink of an eye, Seifer grabbed the collar of the headmaster's shirt, hauling the shorter man up so that their faces were inches apart. "You understand… nothing!" He hissed through teeth gritted in a feral snarl.

The headmaster was not cowed. "Oh no? You think I don't know that you never sleep? You think I don't know why? You think I don't know about the things that come in your dreams, and while you are awake?" Seifer's eyes widened in shock and he set the headmaster down, but Cid pressed forward, his own teeth bared. "You think I don't know about how you've never touched your gunblade since that day? You think I don't know how much you loved her, or how much you hate him?" 

Seifer backed away, his hands pressed into his temples. The headmaster's words fell upon his ears like a rain of hammers, knocking away every board he had slapped across his memories. "You can't know what it's like!"

"No?" The headmaster took a step back, but did not stop speaking. "I do know, Seifer. I know how you served her. I know how you try to serve her still. I know why you can never forget. I know how you feel because…"

"Stop!" Seifer raised a hand.

"Because I know how…" 

"Don't say it!" Seifer's palms were against his temples, his fingers dug into his scalp.

"I know how you failed her."

Forcing his head from side to side, Seifer sank to his knees. "No!" Blood seeped from under his fingers, where his nails dug into his skin. "No." 

The headmaster was merciless. "You failed her, Seifer. She died because you could not protect her." He looked down at the folded form of the former knight on the floor before him. He waited until he was sure Seifer would hear his next words. "I know how much you despise yourself." Cid paused. "I know, because I failed as well."

From the floor, a whisper, a ghost of Seifer's voice. "But Edea lives."

"Yes, but not because of me, because of him." Cid's eyes narrowed. 

Seifer slowly straightened. Eyes still downcast, he said "It doesn't matter, you can redeem yourself to her…" With painstaking deliberation, he rose to his feet again, ignoring the blood slowly dripping down the sides of his face. "I can not."

"Are you so sure?" The headmaster turned away from the former knight.

Ever so slowly, Seifer spoke as he turned toward Cid. "What do you mean?" 

Facing away from Seifer, the slightest hint of a smile crept across Cid's features. "You know I'm here to ask a favor of you, Mr. Almasy, you don't know what I'm offering in return."

"If you know me so well, you know that there is nothing left that I care about." Seifer looked down.

"Not even… revenge?"

…

The book Zell held before his face was shaking. Seldom were the times that the martial arts expert felt any real fear, however, he was certainly feeling a bit of anxiety now. Again, he sneaked a glance over the hardbound novel with which he was pretending to be interested. There she was, Iris Deen, the most beautiful girl in the world. Today, she was on duty as one of the librarians in the garden's repository of printed documents. Knowing that he was allowing his gaze to linger on her much longer than was safe, he couldn't help but admire the way her student's uniform accented—_Oh crap!_ Iris turned, and her eyes met squarely with Zell's. 

Zell nearly gave himself whiplash as he attempted to dive, nose first, into the book he was holding. He stared at the centerline bindings studiously. Not one to be patient however, Zell remained this way only long enough for the flush to drain from his face before peeking again over the top of the thick novel. She was still there, and—to Zell's infinite dismay—she was staring directly at him, a small frown on her face. She began making her way across the library toward him. 

Once again behind the relative safety of the hardback, Zell was panicky. _She's coming over here! What do I do?! What do I say!?_ Before he could come up with the answers to the questions racing through his mind, a set of small, slender fingers appeared over the horizon of page 133, Zell looked up at them apprehensively. The fingers' grip tightened, and the novel was slowly drawn from Zell's grasp. As the novel was drawn away from him, Zell was confronted with the sight of an angel—the angel of death, for she was—oh dread—frowning. Preparing himself to be struck down where he stood, Zell opened his mouth to speak.

Iris beat him to it. "It works much better this way." Her frown transformed into a shy smile as she turned Keytones, Microphages, and Other Aspects of Cellular Microbiology right side up and handed the book back to Zell.

"I-I-I" Zell stammered. 

"—am Zell Dincht?" Iris raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I know. I'm Iris Deen." She curtsied slightly. "Pleased to meet you Mr. Dincht."

"P-P-P" Zell began.

"Please call you Zell?" Iris flashed him a radiant smile. "Ok, I will. And you can call me Aye—all my friends do."

Zell was thunderstruck. Not only was Iris Deen smiling at him, but also had she just implied that he was her friend? He tried again to speak. "Aye-Aye-"

Iris giggled. "Zell, you're so silly. We may be on a boat, but you don't have to talk like you're a sailor!"

"Tha-tha" Zell's temporary speech impediment had not abated.

"That wasn't what you were going to say?" Iris finished for him. "Oh, I know. But you seem a little tense, I was just trying to lighten the mood." Iris glanced around the library. "You know… we're not too busy right now. I think I might be able to take a little time off… would you like to go for a walk?"

Zell's heart flew up into his throat, where it immediately blocked any words attempting to make it past his esophagus. "Wi-wi-" He choked out.

"Of course with me!" She batted his shirt with the back of her hand. Zell immediately vowed never to wash the bit of clothing again. "Come on." She began walking toward the library's exit. Zell stuffed the book he had not been reading back onto the shelf and—though he was walking on air—managed to stumble over himself in his haste to catch up with Iris. 

The main hall of the garden was an airy circular room, bounded by walls that soared up as they leaned inward, causing the entire room to be domed by an enormous paraboloid. The nighttime lights, set into the polished ceramic surface of the concourses ringing the giant room were off, as daylight still cascaded from giant banks of windows set high in the overhead dome. Below the walkways, clear water reflected the blue of the sky and the white and cream inner walls and ceiling of the hall. Brass lined glass railings ran along the edges of the walkways in order to prevent students from taking an accidental dip in the water that gushed from a ring of fountains, set around the central elevator pillar, and rushed quietly over waterfalls below the walkways around the edge of the room. 

It was against such a railing that Iris leaned, looking down into the clear rushing water. "I've noticed you've been in the library a lot lately, Zell." 

Zell's heart had dropped back into his stomach—where it belonged—but he was now feeling more than a bit queasy. _Say something dashing, something totally debonair, something that will sweep her off her feet!_ "I-I-I" Was the best Zell could manage.

"You haven't been around much, I know, but when you have been here, you've come to the library every single day." Arms resting on the top of a brass rail, leaning forward, Iris twisted one foot back and forth. "You're always standing in that same corner, with some huge tome…" Iris shyly let her gaze travel down along the railing, and then slowly up to meet Zell's. "Sometimes, I think you might be… there just to see me." Zell blushed and turned away.

"Y-Y" Zell stomped a foot, and his inability to speak receded momentarily. "You… noticed me?" On pins and needles he hovered, as the pig-tailed angel considered his words.

This time, it was Iris who shyly looked away. "I-I" She put a hand to her mouth and started again. "Well… actually, I've kind of been… well, following your records, and reading, well, reading your reports."

Zell's heart soared. "Really!?" Not daring to breath, he tried to sidle just the slightest bit closer to Iris.

"Well…" Iris looked up, blushing slightly. "The truth is, um… I think you're, well… I kind of—"

"ZELL!! YO! ZELL!!" Both Zell and Iris turned to look across the hall to where Rowan King was sprinting hard toward the pair shouting at the top of his lungs. "OH MAN, ZELL, YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!!" 

As Junior Classmen of Rowan's age had been in short supply when he had joined the garden, Zell had taken it upon himself to befriend the young SeeD candidate during his first days at Balamb Garden. Between classes, he had occasionally mentored the eager student in self-defense, and physical fitness. It was after Zell had told Rowan that running was a great way to improve one's combat endurance that the youngster had began making his constant daily circuits of the main hall. Since then, Running Rowan had become a permanent mobile fixture of the cavernous room. As Rowan King had made himself useful to those in such vaunted positions as cafeteria lady, the relationship had proved—on occasion—to be beneficial to Zell, as Rowan could often provide him with information on the arrival times of new shipments of The Glorious Hotdog and other insider information. 

Now was decidedly not, however, one of the more beneficial times. Zell attempted to shoot the excited Junior Classmen a meaningful look. Being a protégé of Zell's, Rowan naturally missed the significance of the glare. Hopping about excitedly and panting a bit, Rowan addressed the pair. "Zell, man oh man oh man! You're not going to believe this! It's just so incredible! I mean, there's no way! It's just so—" 

"Spit it out, Rowan!" _And then GO AWAY!_ Zell interrupted the Junior Classman's exhortations of the significance of the news he carried.

"Hotdogs! Zell, Hotdogs!" Rowan waved his arms. "Not just your everyday generic hotdogs, but premium grade, ultrabrand, chili cheese hypermax superdogs! And there's no line!!"

Zell's eyes widened. "The grail!" 

"The what?" Iris said from beside Zell.

"It's the holy grail of hotdog hunters around the garden!" Rowan looked at her incredulously. "You didn't know!?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Iris put a hand to her chest. "I don't particularly like hotdogs myself."

Zell's mouth dropped open, he felt like he had taken a flying kick directly in the stomach. "Wha-what?" He stammered.

"Personally, I prefer lighter stuff." Iris smiled slightly. "You know, tofu, soups, and vegetables—especially brussel sprouts."

Rowan regarded Iris as he would an order of tofu. "Eww!" Then he shrugged and grabbed Zell's arm. "Well, to each her own, I guess. Come on Zell, we gotta go now if we're gonna get to them 'dogs!"

Zell allowed himself to be dragged a few steps toward the cafeteria by the excited cadet. Turning his head, he caught sight of the heartbreaking expression on Iris's face. Silently he appealed to the gods. _Why must you always test me like this!?_ As expected, he received no reply. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Iris! Come with us! I'm sure there's plenty of Tofu or whatever available too." 

Sadly, Iris shook her head. "I'm sorry Zell, I can't take time off for a full meal until my shift's over. Besides," The slightest look of pique crossed her features. "it's just a hotdog, come walk with me, we can eat later." 

"Just a hotdog!" Rowan was thunderstruck. "'Just a hotdog' she says!" He hauled on Zell's arm with renewed vigor. "Come on man, let brussel-sprout girl go back to work and let's feast!"

Zell's mind was made up. Taking a fortifying breath, he squared his shoulders and turned to Iris…

Zell yawned gapingly, and the humid air of a Balamb seacoast summer morning whistled through his teeth as he stood on the observation deck of one of the garden's ferries that was carrying the SeeD squad toward Balamb City's harbor. He gazed wistfully down at the calm aqua-colored water through which the transport's prow clove. Lost in thoughts of things that might have been, Zell did not notice Selphie climbing onto the deck from the transport's hatchway. 

"Hiya, Zell! Whatcha doin?" Selphie had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise of the vessel. 

"Just thinking about things." Zell leaned over the rail, watching the way the watercraft's wake sparkled in the early morning sun.

"Woa! That's a change!" Suddenly a thought occurred to Selphie. "Is it about a **giiirl**?!" She said, emphasizing the noun.

"…." 

Appearing behind the pair, Irvine draped his long arms over both Selphie and Zell's shoulders. "So, how are my most and least favorite SeeDs doin' this mornin'?"

"Grrrreat!" Selphie chirped. "Guess what! I know something about Zell-ll." 

Zell Shrugged off Irvine's arm by way of reply.

"What? Did you eat so many of those chili cheese dogs that you blew chunks again, Zell?" Irvine chuckled.

Zell shook his head. "Nope… but I did have some pretty… … …uh… …tofuish tofu."

Irvine and Selphie were dumbfounded. 

"It was… uh… good." Zell finished, and turned back to watching the water.

Selphie was the first to recover. "I KNEW IT!!" She hopped up and down clapping her hands. "Zell's got a GIRL-FRIEND! Zell's got a GIRL-FRIEND!" She chanted. 

"Well, good for him, darlin'" Irvine caught hold of one of Selphie's arms. "Come on, let's go back down below." 

Selphie tried to pull out of Irvine's grasp. "No, wait! I've gotta know who it is!!" The tiny energetic SeeD dragged the Galbadian sharpshooter away from the hatch and back toward Zell. "Come on, Zell! Tell me! Please! Pretty pretty please?! Tell meee!" 

Irvine managed to get a more secure grip, and towed Selphie back toward the hatch. "C'mon babe, give the man some peace, huh?"

"No! Come on Zell! At least tell me what that is!" She tried to wriggle free, pointing with her free arm to a small silver circlet partially hidden beneath one of Zell's gloves. 

As Irvine struggled to reel Selphie in, Zell fingered the thin engraved bracelet. "It's… better than hotdogs." He said, almost to himself.

"What?! What? I didn't hear! Irvine, let GO!" Selphie lunged forward.

"Eyouch!" Irvine shouted as his arm bent at a painful angle. Reaching forward with his left hand, he caught hold of Selphie's other arm. "Come on, Darlin, you'll have plenty of time to torment the poor jerk about it on the way to Deling." 

"But I wanna know NOW!!" Selphie cried as she was pulled toward the hatch. 

Irvine, his grip now secure, lifted Selphie off her feet, and carried her bodily over to the open hatchway and ladder. "Down you go, Darlin'." 

Dangling over the open hatch, legs kicking wildly at the air—and Irvine—Selphie screamed. "Irvine! Don't you dare! Let me go, I've got important things to discuss with Zell."

"Bomb's away, babe." Irvine said, with a fatalistic grin, and Selphie fell—with an outraged squeal—down the hatch. He turned to Zell. "You owe me one, sparky." He grinned, and leapt down the ladder, slamming the hatchway behind him.

Had he been paying attention, Zell wouldn't have envied Irvine's position, but, as he idly fingered the silver bracelet—one of a set that had previously both adorned Iris's wrists—he thought of its twin—and the person who's arm it would be resting on.

…

Eyes narrowed against the rising sun of a different dawn, Seifer stood near the center of a circle of fallow, rocky ground. So, the bastard was in Timber now. No matter. Seifer bared his teeth in a vicious grin. He now had the advantage. _I should have known this would happen._ Seifer should have been able to guess why Cid had come to meet with him, but he had never really thought of the Balamb Garden headmaster as a true knight. Knights did not leave their sorceresses in the hands of others. Knights did not order their sorceresses assassinated. Knights did, however, seek vengeance for their sorceresses, no matter what the circumstances, and in that—at least—Seifer and Cid shared a common thread. Seifer thought of Cid's contract, signed, sealed, and locked safely away back in Balamb. "You should never have attacked Matron, Squall." Seifer neither noticed nor cared that his smile had turned into a feral snarl as he gazed west.

Along the line of coastal cliffs that stretched westward, to the tip of the Balamb Continent, and east, to Balamb City, vegetation was abundant. Thick green grasses and soft bluish purple moss coated the tops of the granite walls that rose hundreds of feet above the crashing surf. Only one spot was devoid of any flora—the spot where Seifer now stood. The circle of barren rock was nearly four meters in diameter, and at its center, a black gunblade had been driven deep into the solid stone. As he stood before the weapon, Seifer unconsciously flexed his right hand. 

It had been here, a seeming lifetime—it couldn't have been more than a few months—ago that he had fallen. He had been here when he had failed.

After his defeat aboard the Lunatic Pandora some unknown force in his mind had driven him to return to Balamb. Those days had been an agony of waiting. His sorceress was already lost to him—who knew how many years in the future. Somehow those damned SeeDs had traveled to Ultimecia's time while he, her knight, had been left behind. Still, he had been certain she would return… yes, she would defeat SeeD, compress time, exist in the past as well as the future, and they would be together once again. Every morning, Seifer had come to this spot with his weapon. He had relived every battle a thousand times over. When his sorceress returned, he would be prepared, he had vowed never to fail her again.

But she had not returned. Instead, on that morning, he had fought phantoms. Squall, the Chicken-Wuss, the Cowboy, the one from Trabia, Instructor Trepe, and… Rinoa. He had felt them all before him, prepared for battle, but when he had struck at them, they evaporated, they passed around his blade, tormenting him with their laughter, with their self-assuredness. For hours he had chased the phantasms across the windswept cliffs, and then suddenly, it had all stopped. Ringing clear across time, like the voice of an angel, he had heard her calling him, heard her cry out in desperation, seeking his aid. 

Seifer's eyes closed. There was a void in his soul, an icy emptiness where once his heart had responded, had called out to his sorceress—his love. That part of him had been scorched from existence. Burned by the same fire that parted the clouds and run down his sword into his arm. Transfixed in that beam of judgment, he had been found lacking. Seemingly of its own accord, his gunblade had clove deeply into the solid rocks, and the magical energy ripping through him had tossed Seifer aside like a broken toy. It was then that he had known the true agony of defeat. He bore the scars of that day, long branches of scorched flesh, crisscrossing his palm and wrapping up his arm—still fresh, as if it had happened just the night before. They never changed, neither living nor dead, the scarred tissue only existed, it served no real purpose. The slightest bit of a sardonic sneer curled Seifer's upper lip, he knew what that sort of living was like. 

Seifer turned, and walked, for the thousandth time, to the weathered edge of the tall cliffs. Holding his arms out to his sides, he balanced the balls of his feet on the edge of the crumbling shale. As low, broken, purple-bellied clouds raced overhead—driven by astiffening east wind—the former knight again placed his life in the hands of chance. One errant gust would send him plummeting to a watery grave. It would be a relief. For the hundredth time, fate proved far too cruel for any such gesture of mercy, and Seifer lowered his arms, slowly backing away from the precipice. He could not do it himself, he had tried many times. Somewhere, deep inside of him, something refused to believe she was gone. 'Wait' it said. 'Patience' it said. 'She is not truly gone, she will give you a purpose some day' it said. And always, he had no choice but to listen.

Returning to the weapon driven into the rock, Seifer regarded the gunblade. _Is this my purpose? Am I to be the vessel of her vengeance? _"Ultimecia." He whispered. The wind immediately whipped his words away, but Seifer was certain he felt the rocks tremble beneath his feet as the blade vibrated in sympathetic harmony to the name. He could speak it now. Was that a sign? _You gave me your true name, but that is a secret not even these cold cliffs may hear._ Seifer shook his head. _I will never speak it to anyone but you…_ "…and I will speak it again." Seifer whispered. 

Seifer did not wince as he wrapped his right hand around the familiar grip of the gunblade, he did not flinch at all as the rippling lines of magic flames again burnt their way up the channels of dead flesh lining his arm. Instead, he smiled at the pain the fire brought as it tore under his chest and into his heart. "I will find you, my love. Wherever you are, whenever you are, I will come for you." Seifer released his grip, and as the last few sparks of energy arced between his fingers and the gunblade, he seized the weapon in his left hand. "But first…" No magical energy burned into his flesh as he effortlessly drew the glinting weapon from the half-meter of stone into which it had been driven. "…first, I will kill Squall Leonhart."

Balamb's waterfront was just beginning to come alive as the SeeD transport tied up alongside one of the concrete piers jutting into the city's protected harbor. Without preamble, the headmaster and four SeeDs made their way up one of the winding cobbled streets leading to Balamb station. 

Zell thought, for a moment, about requesting permission to visit his foster parents as the group passed the road that lead back to the only home he remembered. Zell was unsure, however, of what he would tell the people he still thought of as his true parents. _Hi mom and dad, can't stay long, I'm off to spy on a friend._He thought better of it, and followed mutely at the rear of the small group of mercenaries. 

Though it was early, Balamb City's railroad depot bustled with activity. Down the line leading to the switching yard, a long string of boxcars, flattops, and modularized cargo containers were being loaded by a swarm of laborers. Still-green lumber, sheets of shiny corrugated metal—fresh from the extrusion plant—iron girders, and box upon box of rivets, bolts, screws, nails and every kind of fastener imaginable were all being loaded onto the long freight section of the train. The heavy caterpillar treads of a self-mobile crane churned up the sandy soil, sending clouds of powdery dust into the air, as it rolled toward a large flatcar. Four of the line's heaviest locomotives were linked together, the exhaust from their idling engines made the roofline of the station shimmer and dance in the waves of heat. Obviously, Balamb's export business was not suffering from the reconstruction of Timber.

Passengers were by no means in short supply as well. Though most of the refugees from the fighting that had fled to Balamb had already returned to their homes, a large crowd milled about near ladders leading into the passenger coaches. Hopelessly overwhelmed conductors stood at the entrances of the half-dozen rusty coaches that had been dug up from some storage siding, doing their best to imitate the efficiency of the electronic ticket checkers aboard the more modern cars.

Into this scene of chaos, Cid forged intrepidly, followed closely by Quistis. Irvine—next in line—sauntered along at a measured pace. This, of course, drove Selphie up the wall, and she was obliged to help the Galbadian sharpshooter on his way with frequent energetic shoves.

Zell, unusually reserved, brought up the rear. Looking back, Quistis noted the pensive look on the SeeD's face. Undoubtedly, he was thinking about their orders; their mission. None of the mercenaries—though they all hid the fact—could escape the realization that they would soon be infiltrating hostile territory in search of their friends, but not on a rescue mission, not because they planned to render assistance, but rather to observe—and judge.

Quistis barely noticed the jostling of the crowd all around her as she followed Headmaster Kramer. _Why send so many of us? Why send us at all? We have other agents who specialize in infiltration of unfriendly territory._ The same questions had been running through her head for nearly a day now. The more Quistis thought about them, the less she like the conclusions she was force to draw. _The headmaster wouldn't send such a large force unless he expected us to run into trouble… but if we're to avoid contact with the Galbadian authorities, what sort of trouble are we going to face?_ There was only one logical conclusion; the headmaster believed that SeeD might eventually be forced to fight the sorceress and former mercenary. Against such powerful enemies, who would stand a chance? No one but SeeDs top squad. That the squad members were all friends of the enemy was just details. 

Quistis shook her head. The headmaster was not so callous as that. He had to realize the squad would never betray their leader—that Squall had resigned made no difference at all. _I know I can't. Zell… not a chance. He wouldn't do it. Selphie and Irvine? I don't know, but it doesn't matter. Even united…_ Quistis shivered slightly. She had seen the reports from the Battle of Timber. As the sorceress's abilities evolved, Rinoa and Squall were becoming extraordinarily powerful. As she reached up to grab hold of the railing to the ladder leading into the interior of the coach that held the SeeD's cabin—still reserved solely for the Garden's mercenaries, as it had been since the inception of the gardens—Quistis shook her head again. No, even if the four SeeDs could be convinced to fight their friends, they were no longer a match for the sorceress and her knight. Quistis had learned to repress the tiny sad sigh that always tried to fight its way past her lips when she thought of them that way, as she did so, another thought forcibly substituted itself in her mind. Who would they meet on the train? _Does the headmaster think that we will fight alongside total strangers? If so, does he really think these outsiders would make any difference at all?_ Quistis doubted there was anyone, anywhere who could hope to do so. Except… but no, Quistis blew out a small breath, that was impossible… the headmaster would never…

…

Rajin had never been so bored in his life. He sat, head propped on hands, not listening to the multitude of opinions being offered by concerned citizens on public blah, blah, blah.Initially, when he, Fujin and Seifer had returned to Balamb, his position on this particular—he couldn't even remember the name—advisory council had been one of high stature. He had been given the center seat at the long, curved table of city council members that listened to citizen's complaints and suggestions, then debated endlessly among themselves over what recommendations to make to the mayor concerning whatever today's topic happened to be. However, in the middle of one meeting, whilst a prominent member of the community had been making an extraordinarily lengthy speech, Rajin had fallen asleep. As the long-winded businessman had been jabbing the air excitedly with a finger—making his most important points—he had been interrupted by a loud thud as Rajin's head had hit the table. After that, the former SeeD cadet had been consigned to a side seat, where he could nap in peace—if he so chose. However, Such naps were hazardous business, as Rajin had found out. Fujin—sick of her own meetings—was often obliged to wander in to check on her comrade. If she found him asleep… Rajin shuddered and straightened slightly, pretending interest—it was best to stay awake.

Suddenly, Rajin yelped in surprise as a hand smacked him—none too gently—in the back of the head. As the yokel of a shopkeeper who had been speaking paused to glare at the interruption, Rajin turned with dread to face the familiar one-eyed countenance of Fujin. However, instead the usual annoyance, an excited look manifested itself in her single eye. "COME!" She gestured toward the nearest exit of the small meeting hall. 

With a half-hearted apologetic shrug to the council, audience and speaker, Rajin complied. 

The ride down to the villa afforded the group of former Galbadian officers by the city of Balamb proved to be as hair-raising as always. Rajin wished Fujin would let the one of them with actual depth-perception drive once in a while, but he had learned that stating his opinion would only result in a swift kick in the shins. Before the vehicle had even really stopped, Fujin had alighted, and proceeded to drag Rajin bodily out of the vehicle as well. "HURRY!"

Rajin managed to kick the parking brake in as he fell from the car. "Oof! Hey, relax, Fujin! You're gonna blow a gasket, ya know." He began pushing himself to his feet.

Fujin, not patient enough to wait, hauled Rajin to his feet by way of his ever-present vest and propelled him toward the gate to the chalet's small courtyard. "GO!"

Seifer drove forward and slashed blindly again. The tip of his gunblade sang through the air as he brought his left arm across his body and out, causing the weapon to describe a dark arc in the air. Again, he did not know whom he was fighting. Before, it had been easy, before, all he could think of was that hated face. Always, Squall had been the focus of his rage, of the hatred and loathing he had learned to channel into fighting prowess. Always. Even when he was a child he had been driven to goad the taciturn orphan into scuffles and brawls, and Squall had always risen to the challenge. 

Seifer had never questioned his hatred of the boy. It had been one of the few constants in his life, to ask why he was compelled to fight Squall was to ask why he had to breath. But now... Now he knew why. He had realized it in that instant of incomprehensible failure, when he knew the SeeD had killed his sorceress, his one true love. Somehow, Seifer had known, even as a child, that his brown-haired, diminutive peer would one day take away the one he held most dear. 

By all rights, this should have made his anger burn brighter than ever—and at first, it had. When he had learned of Cid's plan, of the possibility of revenge, he had sworn to kill the SeeD—but now… now the flare of anger was gone, and Seifer could feel himself slipping back into the deep despair that had gripped him for so long. As he paced the steps of the battle in his mind, he fought—not with the power of fury—but with the strength of desperation. This was all he had left. He had to defeat Squall Leonhart, there was nothing else left for him… was there?

Rajin and Fujin watched Seifer as he fought with the emptiness in his heart, but they did not see how his blade passed cleanly through it. They did not notice how desperate his blows were—as he tried to fend off the hopelessness that once again threatened to engulf him. Instead, they saw only what they wished to see; Seifer, their old friend, a blade once more in his hand, finally practicing again, driving back legions of foes with his vicious—if now left-handed—attacks. Fujin turned to Rajin with the widest smile he had ever seen her wear. "RESTORED!" 

Rajin nodded. "Yeah. He's back, ya know." He grinned as Seifer drove his blade deep into the trunk of the large Oak near the center of the small courtyard. They would be a posse once more.

Panting, Seifer released his grip on the weapon. Slowly, he became aware that he was not alone. Looking to his left, he saw his two comrades peering over the low brick wall of the courtyard, both wearing ridiculous grins. He looked back to the gunblade buried in the tree. This was it, it was time to decide. Destroy one more life in the name of his love, or fade away into despair forever. Seifer stood, undecided. Slowly, slowly, he turned away from the weapon. There was no point anymore. She was gone. Killing Squall would not bring her back. 

Closing his eyes, Seifer took one step away from the tree in which his gunblade was locked. He felt the slightest sensation of cobwebs brushing across the shattered black diamond that was his heart. _Fight on, my knight._ It might have been a memory, it might have been a dream, it might have been the wind in the leaves of the large Oak, but something stopped Seifer cold. In the blink of an eye, he had drawn the gunblade from its resting place, and, whirling, he swept it in a screaming arc edged by blue fire. The great tree, deprived of its support, fell with the groaning of wood grinding on wood as it rotated over its cleanly cut stump. 

Fujin raised her eyebrow at the still-quivering branches of the fallen tree. "AMAZEMENT!"

"Wow!" Rajin was equally impressed. "So… Does this mean ya know what we're gonna do now?"

Seifer sheathed his weapon. "Now…" he nodded slowly. "Now we will fight."

…

On the last step of the ladder leading into the passenger car, Quistis turned to Headmaster Kramer, standing below her on the station platform. "Good luck, Miss Trepe. Remember, I'm counting on you." Quistis saw the headmaster's lips move, but his words were lost in the clamor of the crowd and the throbbing of the locomotive's engines. She saluted, and stepped inside. Standing clear of the doorway, she waited for the remainder of her squad to assemble. _He really is counting on me._ Quistis frowned unhappily. _But I don't know if I can do it. Holding this team together on a mission like this… I don't even know if I want to do this! You ask too much of us, headmaster._

The remaining three SeeDs boarded the car without incident and stood facing Quistis expectantly. She shrugged. "We might as well check in." Quistis blinked. "The headmaster has informed me that the non-SeeD operatives are already aboard, so we'll go in and make introductions before the train gets underway." Their minds already on the upcoming mission, the three SeeDs nodded silently, each with their own version of a pensive look on their face.

Not surprisingly, Selphie was the first to reach the door of the reserved cabin, Zell right behind her. Keying the door, she stepped inside. "Hi, I'm S—…" 

Quistis reached the doorway just as Zell disappeared inside. She looked in. Three inches from the entrance, Zell had stopped dead in his tracks. Quistis couldn't see his face, but she was certain that he was wearing the same expression of horrified shock that was manifesting itself on Selphie's features and her own. 

Quistis's first impulse was to reach for her weapon. Like Selphie, she managed to suppress the urge before actually unlimbering her whip. Zell showed a bit less restraint; drawing his fists up to striking position and dropping into a widened stance, ready to attack or retreat in a split second. 

It seemed like they stood in that doorway, frozen in this manner for an eternity. "Introductions are unnecessary." Seifer said at last, breaking the spell.

Zell didn't say anything. He simply turned, shoved past Quistis and Irvine, and disappeared. _I can't believe it! Headmaster, how could you do this to us!?_ Now Quistis knew why the headmaster had been so emphatic when he talked about controlling the squad. _I'm supposed to be the one who convinces everyone to fight alongside Seifer!? I don't know if I can do it, headmaster! I sure as hell don't want to!_ Quistis looked again to the cabin's couch where Seifer sat, arms resting on the top of the backrest, wearing his usual expression of haughty superiority. The dark and muscular Rajin sat to his left while Fujin rested silently to his right. Quistis turned, Selphie, and even Irvine still wore shocked expressions, but she could see that the realization that these were to be their allies on the upcoming mission was beginning to dawn on the pair. Zell, however… Quistis sighed. 

"You two stay right here, don't do anything until I get back." Quistis snapped out the order, then turned and made her way down the corridor toward the car's entrance. Shoving her way past the people trying to board, she could see Zell's retreating form making his waytoward the station's exit. 

"Zell! Wait!" She ran to catch up with the excitable blond SeeD. "Stop" Quistis placed a restraining hand on Zell's shoulder. He shrugged her off and continued on his way. Not to be put off her task easily, Quistis moved directly in front of the mercenary. "Get back on that train, mister. That's an order." She stood with her hands on her hips, blocking Zell's path.

Zell shook his head. "No way! There is no way in hell that I'm going to do this! No way I'm going work beside that bastard! Now get out of my way."

Quistis did no budge. "Yes you are. Those are our orders, and your going to carry them out whether you like them or not." 

Zell stopped and regarded Quistis. "No. No way I'm gonna fight beside the son-of-a-bitch who attacked my garden, killed my friends, invaded my home town, and tried to kill us all a dozen times! And if you're going to, then you're completely crazy!" 

Quistis's expression hardened. "You think I don't know what he's done? You think I didn't have friends who died in the attack? You think I don't see how much he hates Squall and the rest of us?" Quistis spoke in a low, hard voice. "I do know, and it tears at me more than I can say to run this mission."

Zell's belligerent tone softened a bit. "Well, if you feel the same way, why **are** you going along with this?"

Quistis looked back at the train, where a conductor was making last call. "Look, Zell, it's because I know how much Seifer hates Squall that I have to go. Who knows what Seifer will do if he gets the chance?" _Who knows what he's been ordered to do? _"If Seifer decides to ditch the mission and carry out his personal vendetta, what's going to happen to our friends?" Quistis shook her head. "As much as I hate it, I have to go now. Knowing that Seifer is going seals that. If—when—he moves against Squall and Rinoa, I'm going to stop him, the team is going to stop him." As the engines aboard the locomotives began to spool up, Quistis looked pleadingly to Zell. "We can't stop him without you, Zell. Please, we need your help. I know it's hard for you to be around him, but please, do it for Squall, do it for Rinoa, do it for us."

Zell's jaw tightened. He closed his eyes. "Alright." Was all he said.

Back aboard the train, Quistis breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that the remaining two squad members had followed her orders—retreating to the coach's entryway, but staying on board. 

Selphie's eyes narrowed as she listened to Quistis—relating to her and Irvine a speech similar to the one she had made to Zell. The normally energetic SeeD's lips stretched into a thin white line. _Seifer, you're the one responsible for Trabia, you're responsible for so much pain and suffering. _Inwardly, she gritted her teeth. _You'd better watch out, you bastard._

Had she been alone, Selphie would have bared her teeth in a feral grin of delight when Zell announced that he intended to go sit in the cabin reserved for the SeeDs—no matter what sort of vermin infestation it was plagued with. She desperately hoped Zell would start a fight, she wanted an excuse—any excuse to kill Seifer. 

"Well, looks like you didn't run away after all, Chicken-Wuss." Seifer laughed joylessly as the four SeeDs filed into the cabin. His two cronies smiled.

Again, shaking off the restraining hand Quistis laid on his arm, Zell strode forward. Seifer did not move as the martial arts expert held one clawed fist inches from his face. "My name… Is Zell Dincht, and don't you forget it." 

Quistis's prayers were answered when Seifer remained silent, and—after a moment—Zell stepped back and dropped onto the seat furthest from the former knight. Rajin and Fujin relaxed. Quistis steeled herself. "Seifer, I need to talk with you." She said in her sternest instructor's voice. 

Seifer conspicuously avoided her gaze as he inspected the fingers of his right glove. "Hm… well, maybe after a bit. Me and my old buddy, Chicken…" He paused, and grinned maliciously. "…Zell have got so much to catch up on." 

"Now." Quistis said in a voice that brooked no argument. 

Seifer shrugged nonchalantly for the benefit of his compatriots and stood. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

Trying to hide the relief she felt as Seifer backed down, Quistis stepped out into the hallway. Still, her brow furrowed as she walked toward the rear of the car. _Why me, headmaster? I've lost as much as anyone because of him. Why do I have to be the one that links our two groups?_

Seifer took up a relaxed stance in the doorway of the railroad car, looking out at the walls of the underwater tunnel rushing by as the train raced toward Timber. 

"We don't need this, Seifer." Quistis began. 

"Come on, Quis." Seifer mocked her with the familiarity in his voice. "I'm just talking to my _old friends_, you know, acting like things haven't changed." A sardonic smile crossed his face.

Quistis's eyes narrowed. "Look, Seifer. I don't know why you're here, or what you're planning to do, but I've got a mission to complete. Get in my way, and I'll kill you where you stand." she hissed.

Finally, Seifer did look at her. Quistis felt a shock travel through her. His eyes… Though Seifer's face was still locked into a haughty, demeaning expression, his eyes were… not angry, not superior, not confident, but haunted, empty, hollow. She had never seen him like this. "I'm sure you will." 

_Not 'you'll try' or 'you wish you could' but 'you will.' What happened to him?_ And suddenly, all of Quistis's preconceptions of Seifer fell away. For a moment, she forgot the evil wrappings with which her mind had swaddled her tall former student, and she saw him for what he really was—empty, burnt out, a ghost of his former self. 

"Don't worry, instructor. I won't keep you from completing your precious mission." Seifer sneered, but his voice rang hollow. _The way she's looking right through me… god, can she see what I've become?_ Seifer turned away a bit too quickly. "You may go now." He waved a hand dismissively. __

Quistis remained stationary. A long silence fell over the small room, punctuated only by the clacking steel on steel of the coach's wheels. Turning away, she spoke, almost too quietly to hear. "Seifer, what happened to you?"

However, Seifer did hear. _So she can see… I'll have to be careful around the others._ He snorted at the question that had been asked without expecting an answer. _As if I would tell **you**._ And suddenly, he had to bite back a sigh. _As if I could tell anyone._ "Why don't you go back to making sure your boy scouts don't accidentally kill themselves with their Swiss Army Knives?" 

Quistis sighed. "You know, you and Squall have a lot in common."

Seifer's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, instructor." In an earlier time, Seifer might have killed her for saying that, but... Seifer regarded the SeeD. _Is that really so untrue? Would he have done what I've done were our roles reversed? Would anyone else follow this path I've chosen? _He did want to tell her. It was almost painful how much he wanted to tell this person—his enemy—the deepest secrets of his soul. _But I'm not going to. You'll never know… I know what you think of me. I know how all of you see me, how all of you despise me. And you're all right. I am a monster; evil, twisted, and inhuman. _

Seifer turned so as not to face the blond former instructor. Who knows what else one can read in the windows to the soul? _I never wanted this. I dreamed—just like everyone does—of being the hero, the knight in shining armor. I didn't want to be the bad guy… But I gave it all up for her. I turned my heart to stone and murdered the innocent for her. All the world turned against her, and—because I was her knight—against me as well, but **I was her knight**, and she was worth it all. _Seifer desperately wished Quistis would leave. He tried unsuccessfully to stem the flow of betraying thoughts, as if the SeeD might somehow snatch them from his mind and hold them up for all to see. Gritting his teeth, he stared hard, looking out to the concrete and steel rushing by the coach without seeing a thing._ But she's gone, and now I'm nothing. When I was with her, I was her guardian, her right hand, I shared her soul, and I was her vessel. I knew I could do anything. Now I'm nothing, nothing but the husk of what I once was—an evil, cruel, emptyshell of a man. I know the path I have to walk now. You know it too. Accept what must be. _

Seifer's eyes had closed. _Reject me, hate me, loath me… but please… …please don't try to understand me._

When Seifer opened his eyes again, he breathed the slightest sigh of relief, Quistis was gone.

The rest of the trip to Timber passed in an uneasy but uneventful silence. To Quistis's relief, Seifer did not seem inclined to provoke any of her charges into action, choosing instead to maintain his mask of cold superiority through silence and demeaning glances. 

After a few jostling bumps as cars and engines were switched in Timber, the coach in which the party rode began its trip to Deling. 

"Alright SeeDs," Quistis began, at last breaking the leaden silence, "time to go incognito." She stood. As the three other SeeDs followed her lead, Quistis doled out the undercover kits the party had been issued upon leaving the garden. "You can draw a single disguising spell from this thing." She indicated her small-makeup-kit-sized black case. "Hopefully you all remember your training with these. The spells are pretty rare, so I don't have many extras." She regarded the small party. "If you remember, these things last until you get hit with a dispel magic, so we should be ok." She snapped the case open. "There's also some makeup, hair-dye, and plastiskin in here, but the makeup and plastiskin aren't waterproof, so try to get your disguise magic to work right." 

Zell was eyeing his kit distastefully. He opened his mouth to speak.

Quistis beat him to it. "Yes, Zell, you have to put this stuff on." She sighed. "We're all famous now."

One side of Irvine's mouth quirked up in an ironic smile. "Yup, we couldn't go thirty seconds in Galbadia afore the aw-thoraties would git us." One brow lowered. "But I never got training on these things."

"Oh, don't worry, Kinne-poo, I'll help you out." Selphie grinned maliciously. 

Irvine realized he was trapped. "Uh, ok, darlin'."

"Try to keep it simple. We definitely don't want to draw attention to ourselves." Quistis frowned. "You've all been issued some normal street clothes too. Use the lavatories at the end of the coach to get into disguise. Come back here when you're finished."

Selphie grabbed Irvine's arm. "Come on, Irvy. We'll go first. This is gonna be FUN!" 

As he was dragged down the hall, Irvine's voice could be heard floating back to the cabin. "Now, darlin' about droppin' you down that hatch this mornin', you know I…" 

Returning to her seat to await her turn, Quistis turned her head toward Seifer. "I trust you have adequate disguises for the mission?"

Seifer leaned back where he sat. "But of course, Miss Trepe." He grinned falsely, "But what about …Zell?" He turned toward the combative SeeD. "Are you sure you've got enough yellow feathers in that little box to cover yourself?" Seifer paused for a second. "Oh, but then you wouldn't be out-of-character now would you?"

Zell stood and turned toward Seifer.

"Zell, please." Quistis stood as well, trying to place herself between the agitated SeeD and the former knight. 

It was then that the door to the cabin opened to admit two women; one short, sprightly girl with shoulder-length straight blonde hair and brown eyes, and one tall, gangly brunette with blue eyes. The brunette looked positively miserable, and moved in a decidedly mannish manner. 

Distracted, Zell turned away from his antagonist. "Irvine?"

The brunette nodded unhappily. 

Quistis had to cover her mouth to keep from exploding with laughter at the disguise of the Galbadian sharpshooter. 

"You look terrible." Zell said in shock, Seifer momentarily forgotten.

Rajin's laughter shook the cabin. "Oh man! He's not the man he used to be, ya know?" 

"I know." The spell caused the sharpshooter's voice to emerge as a screechingly high falsetto, which fit neither the 'old' Irvine nor his new appearance.

"Ridiculous." Observed Fujin with a broad grin.

Quistis shook with the effort of restraining her mirth. 

The remainder of the group managed to apply their disguises without incident, Seifer, Rajin, and Fujin producing their own undercover kits when queried by Quistis. Zell—with some help from Quistis—transfigured into a black-haired rather stout fellow who's beakish nose and wrinkle lines gave him the appearance of being in his late thirties. Quistis donned a pair of hazel contacts, changed her hair to a dark brown hue, and made subtle alterations to her facial features. Fujin proved herself quite proficient at the disguising spell, as a bit of complex casting made her eye-patch disappear and her hair, skin color, and facial features transformed into a distinctly oriental appearance. She also assisted Rajin in transfiguring into a blue-eyed, fair-skinned Norwegian with orange hair and a matching orange mustache, which he was forever scratching. Meanwhile, Seifer erased his scar, darkened his hair a shade, and changed his facial features enough not to be recognizable. 

Once all disguises were donned, Quistis stood, and walked across the vibrating carpeted floor of the cabin and leaned against the bunked beds set against one wall. Seeing that she had everyone's attention, she cleared her throat and addressed the group. "Obviously we'll be arriving in Deling within the next few hours." She began.

"Obviously." Seifer repeated with a sneer.

Quistis favored him with an acidic glare and continued. "Our first priority is to set up a base of operations from which we can rotate shifts keeping the targets under surveillance." The SeeDs squirmed uncomfortably upon hearing their friends referred to as targets. Quistis shrugged inwardly. _They'll just have to get used to it._ "Once we've begun the mission, I've been informed that our contact in Deling will be joining us."

The portly black-haired man that was Zell raised a hand. 

Quistis nodded. "Yes, Zell?"

Zell lowered his arm. "Uh, who is our contact in Deling?" 

Quistis frowned. "I'm sorry, the headmaster didn't inform me. I guess we'll be find out when we get there."

"…Again." Selphie muttered darkly, narrowing her eyes and staring over to where Seifer sat.

"Watch, it'll probably be that Biggs guy or somebody." Irvine growled—as well as he could under the influence of his disguising magic.

Quistis ignored their comments and continued. "There's a few items we need to address before we arrive." She paused for a moment to organize her thoughts. "First off, everybody needs to choose a name to fit their disguise. Once you've decided on yours, let everyone know what it is. We won't be practicing among ourselves; everyone will go by their real names when we're together, otherwise things might get confusing if we run into any trouble. You've all taken classes in this sort of thing, so I'm counting on the fact that everyone can handle this sort of thing and not give themselves, or anyone else, away." She waited until each of the SeeDs had nodded to show they understood. "Also, we haven't been given enough gil..." Quistis paused, unsure of how to continue. "…well, if the mission runs… that is, we may find ourselves a bit short on funds… so during surveillance rotations, those not on duty will need to find some sort of part time work so we don't get, uh, evicted from our base."

The eyebrows of the three disguised seeds shot up. Rajin chuckled, Fujin scowled. Seifer rolled his eyes. "Oh, I can see that a great deal of planning went into this mission."

[Chapter 5][1]

   [1]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/five.htm



	5. Seceleris

** **

**Chapter 5:**

** **

**Seceleris**

** **

The red and yellow parasol bobbed back and forth as the two-wheeled cart to which it was attached bounced over the uneven pavement. Rolling his burden into a bit of shade that was out of the glare of the searing midday sun hanging in the robin's-egg blue sky, the portly little man paused a moment and pretended to wipe the sweat from his brow. Looking left and right to ensure that no one was paying any particular attention to him, the man snatched a pair of tongs which hung from a rack mounted on the little cart and dipped his beak-nosed face low to a steaming opening of one of the cart's internal compartments. The tongs disappeared into the opening. After a bit of prodding and inspection, the tongs emerged, clasping a plump, juicy-looking frankfurter. Casting about with one last furtive glance, the man expertly popped open a toasted bun from a rack on the cart; slathered the frank with relish, ketchup, and mustard; and popped the whole assembly into his mouth.

Chewing with his eyes closed rapturously, Zell leaned against the cart whose garishly painted sides indicated that it was: "Bob's Hotdog Emporium—stand #5."

After a few more moments of chewing, the disguised SeeD wheeled his cart out from under the shadow of the massive gateway that stood in the middle of Deling City's central park and proceeded to look—reluctantly—for customers as he made his way slowly down one of the parks many walking paths, gravel crunching dustily underfoot. 

Jeffery "Duke" Putersal was looking forward to the sixteen ounce T-bone steak he had just ordered at the Prairie Star Steakhouse in one of the blue-collar sections of Deling near the city's center. He was also looking forward to the return of that 'purdy young thang' who had taken his—and his two friends'—orders. "Yup." He said to himself, it was lookin' to be another nice Friday night of unwinding with good food and pretty women. 

"Whazat, Duke?" Randy Jerrolds asked from across the table.

"I was just thinking about that there waitress who done took our orders." Duke affected what he thought was a pretty good impression of a western drawl. "Mmm-hmm, purdy as a…" grasping for a suitable country expression, he elbowed Decar Ranyold for assistance.

"…As a little red wagon goin' up a hill." Decaur offered.

"Yeah, tha's right." Duke smiled. "She's shore easy on an ol' cowboy's eyes. That's fur darn shore." 

"You a cowboy?" Randy snorted. "Imagine that, and me thinking you was a inhabitant of the capital of Galbadia all this time."

Duke put on an expression of injured pride. "Why, I may be." He pointed to his heart. "But deep down, I'm as country as… as…" 

"Tumbleweed, cowboy boots, the west itself." Decaur shrugged.

"Yeah." Duke smiled up at the waitress arriving with the table's orders. "Ain't that right, darlin'?"

The waitress favored duke with a particularly joyless smile. "I ain'tcher darlin', cityslicker."

"Easy on thar, honey." Duke patted her arm as she laid his meal out before him. "No need ta' be all insultin' like." 

"I'll thank ya to keep yer hands to yerself." The waitress said, pulling her arm away and turning to leave.

A bit chagrined, Duke rose to his feet. "Aw, c'mon babe, just tryin' ta show ya a bit o' cowboy friendliness 's all." He said as he gave her rear a playful slap. 

A split second later, Duke found himself bent over, facedown on the table staring at a pair of ten-gallon hat shaped salt and pepper shakers, held there—the offending appendage twisted painfully behind his back. A suspiciously unpleasant coolness at the base of his skull served to increase his consternation. The clicking of a hammer being drawn back confirmed his fears that that 'purdy young thang' was none too happy about his 'bit o' cowboy friendliness.'

"I've been leered at, poked, prodded, and humiliated all night long by damn fools like yerself." Irvine growled. "I'm feelin' a bit less than pleasant right about now, so yall pardon me takin' offense atcher actions." The SeeD paused for just a second before taking his finger off the trigger of his weapon. "'Cause all I'm askin' for is a little gawd-dammed respect."

Seifer glared at the woman in front of him. "I purchased a ticket for this boat, now I intend to get on." He responded, answering her question.

The stocky ticket-taker blocking the gangway shook her head. "Not without a life-jacket, you're not."

Seifer's teeth ground together. "Fine, where do I obtain one?"

"Why, from me, of course." The woman smiled.

"Then give me one, and I shall board." Seifer had a hard time understanding how some people could be so dense.

"Give? Give?" The woman grinned slyly. "I'm sorry, but there's a 20 gil rental fee for life jackets."

Seifer's gloved hand tightened on the handle of his gunblade—hidden by the disguising spell. He fought down an urge to cast Dispel on himself and show this pudgy little trollip just whom she was dealing with. Instead, he silently thrust a 25 gil note at her. 

She snatched the money, handed him his jacket, and smoothly ushered the next person in line up to the gangplank, making no move to return Seifer's change.

As he angrily made his way to the rear of the touring ferry, Seifer caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the tiny onboard bar. His scarred visage was livid with rage. To see the commander of the Galbadian military in such a state would have struck fear into even the most stouthearted soldier, but Seifer knew that was not what everyone around him saw. To them, he appeared no different from any other irate teenager—angry over the loss of a few gil. 

As the tour boat got underway, Seifer found an inconspicuous space along the starboard railing where he could observe the Galbadian naval shipyard of North Ricorn—Galbadia's largest deepwater port city. 

The sight of the massive battleships of the Galbadian fleet sliding by during the quiet afternoon tour did nothing to lighten Seifer's mood. _Look at them. Every one of those vessels was once under my command. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers used to execute my every order—no matter what the cost. I, Seifer Almasy, used to be the second most powerful person on the planet. _Seifer cast a disparaging glance toward the front of the ship, where his fellow sightseers clustered, snapping dozens of photos of the steel behemoths of the sea. _Now I'm reduced to this. Hiding among my disloyal subjects. Spying on what should still be my own forces. Following the orders of that nobody instructor and her pitiful band of fools._ Seifer drew a breath, looking down at the disturbed, oily water, bubbling in the wake of the ferry. _Not only that, but she insists on relegating to me the most demeaning tasks. Get Seifer out of the way by sending him on meaningless missions. _Of course, Seifer understood the reason Quistis had sent him to the northern naval base—nearly one-hundred miles away from Deling on the first day of the mission. _You don't trust me, instructor. You're right not to. _

A thought occurred to Seifer, which made him smile. _But it doesn't matter, Miss Trepe. You could order me a thousand miles away, it would do nothing to prevent what is going to happen. You and your friends cannot protect them. Not forever._

As the tour progressed, the drone of the guide's voice over the ferry's public address system served only to drive Seifer deeper into his silent musings. _They still don't understand the truth. I can see it in the way they act, the way they talk, the way they sit and silently stare at me. They still believe the lie. _

Only for the briefest moment did Seifer's eyes close. Only the tiniest splinter of his shattered heart sparked deep inside his chest. _You said they would believe it, my love, and you were right. "Seifer's not really evil, he's just confused. The sorceress is just using him, he has no free will. You can't blame Seifer for what happened, if he knew what he was doing, he would fight on our side, Ultimecia just has him bewitched." _

Ultimecia had told him—when the SeeDs had been rampaging through the corridors of Galbadia Garden, drawing ever closer to her chamber—she had told him they would believe what they wanted to believe. 

"They will not know us, and they must not, my knight." Ultimecia whispered to Seifer through the fluttering white of the diaphanous veils, which coiled sinuously around knight and sorceress alike. "They must be allowed to believe that you are my puppet."

Seifer closed his eyes as the enchanted silken material wrapped him in a lover's embrace. This was the touch of his sorceress, this was how he could feel her soul—not through the body she controlled—for that was not her, merely a vessel through which she spoke to him, through which she did her work in this time. "Why? Let them know. Let them see me for whom I truly am. I never want to hide my love for you."

"Nor I, you." And in the sorceress's voice was the slightest desperate quaver. "You must understand this above all else. But…" The voice paused, and the rustling folds of floating silk shifted. "…they are coming for me, my love. And you cannot stop them. How I wish I could convince you not to try." 

Borne along by the feathery touch of the sorceress's enchantment, Seifer found himself drawn face-to-face with the corporeal form of the sorceress in this world. Edea's yellow eyes gazed deeply into his own. But they were not Edea's, for in their deepest depths, Seifer could see the spark of another consciousness, the sign of the one whose soul he shared. "Never. I will defend you to the death." 

At this, the sorceress's eyes widened slightly with fear. "You must not! Even if I am defeated in this form, I will live on in my own time and return as another." She placed Edea's hand upon Seifer's own. "Please. You must save yourself no matter what. Promise me." The sorceress's hands were cold.

The look of anguish on the sorceress's face pained Seifer like a blade through his heart. All he wanted was to put an end to anything that caused her worry. He had no choice. "Yes, my love."

The machinery of the elevator at the far end of the chamber began to hum. "They are here! You must go! Run!" But Seifer did not move.

"First you must also promise me something." He placed his left hand over that of the sorceress, still holding onto his right, though she bid him leave. "Promise me we will be together again. No matter what happens, I must see you again!"

The sorceress lifted her hands to Seifer's face, laying her fingers beside his high-boned cheek. "I swear it will be so, my love." Seifer saw the single teardrop sparkle as she turned her head from him and lowered her arms. "Now go, my knight."

As he turned, Seifer heard his sorceress whispering from her soul to his, though the only disturbance of the silent chamber was the chiming of the arriving elevator. _No matter what I say. No matter what I do. I love you, Seifer Almasy. Believe in this truth above all else. _"I do, my love. I do." Seifer whispered as he turned toward the opening elevator doors. "And that is why I must do this." Seifer drew his gunblade in challenge to those who would threaten his sorceress.

Shaking his head, Seifer grimaced. He had relived every moment they had been together in his mind, searching for he knew not what. Why had she lied to him? Living in the future, she must have known what happened in the past. Seifer stared down into the murky water. She must have known that they would never see each other again. "Why? Why, my love?" He whispered into the muted growl of the ferry's engines, a question who's answer Seifer knew all too well.

He had fought gloriously. Infused with the intoxicating power of his sorceress. Seifer had shrugged off injuries as one brushes away mosquitoes. Seifer unleashed devastating blows on that group of seeds. If only they had not had the Guardian Forces at their disposal…

But they did. And slowly, the combined might of so many magical beasts had begun to tell on Seifer. 

He drove his gunblade into Squall's heart, but too late. For the SeeD's body was already beginning to fade. Seifer dodged back, raising his arm, as if the gesture could offer any protection against the magical assault of the GF. Though the sorceress's power still coursed through his body, Seifer could feel himself weakening. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, feel the stabbing pain of cracked ribs, and did not know how much longer he could hold on against the relentless assault.

Suddenly, like a sodden wool blanket, something fell upon Seifer, and he was driven to his knees. Struggling against the weight of this unknown force, Seifer saw an ice stalagmite materialize against the floor. Had his arms not been pinned to his sides, he would have beckoned the frigid Guardian. "C'mon, Popsicle, show me what you've got." But the stifling force prevented him from speaking.

Shiva's eyes flashed as she hovered over the kneeling knight. The guardian drew her elemental power from the surrounding environment, preparing to strike. Seifer braced himself as best as was possible for the blow, clamping his eyes tight against the coming freeze. It never came. Instead, the magical blast washed over a bubble, centered on the beleaguered knight. Shiva's eyes narrowed for just an instant before she disappeared again. 

It was then that Seifer realized what was happening. He tried to cry out. He tried to struggle forward as the SeeDs reappeared. Instead, the force bearing down upon him increased, and Seifer fell to the ground. "No." He managed to whisper between clenched teeth. _Be still, my knight. It will save you._

_But she can't face them alone! _Seifer tried with all his might to move a single muscle, but he was completely paralyzed.

_I must, my love. I can't tell you why, but some day you will understand. _Seifer clung to the voice in his mind even as he heard to sorceress speaking behind him. He did not hear what she said, but he saw how Squall turned his blade away from him and toward the sorceress.

Seifer knew she was gone even before the SeeDs turned to run back to the elevator. 

Seifer released the unyielding railing he had been unconsciously twisting. _I don't understand. I don't understand at all. Surely, together we could have defeated them. Why did you push me away, my love? _

Seifer's grip tightened again as he remembered how he had managed to cast the Ensuna spell upon himself as the elevator doors were closing, how he had dropped down the secret passageway that lead to the auditorium, how—a second time—the sorceress's magic had prevented him from finishing the battle with the SeeDs. But as he had lain there, crushed under the weight of the protecting magic, Ultimecia had returned to him, this time in the form of Rinoa. She had leaned over, gathering him up in her arms. As the sorceress held Seifer to her breast, she had whispered a single word into his ear. 

"Pandora."

A small coronet perched atop the rusted surface of the roller support. Beneath it, a bloated and bleached fish bumped gently against the barnacle-encrusted beam as it was rocked by the wake of a passing tour boat. Ruffling its feathers, the coronet looked left, and then right, scanning the high, stained walls of the partially submerged floating dry-dock. Suddenly, it sprang from its perch into the air. Wheeling, it floated above the row of u-boat docks. Lost in his musings, Seifer failed to note the soaring flight of the small seabird, nor did he notice the row of dry-docks from within which the bird had appeared, nearly every one left empty as all operational craft in Galbadia's submarine armada had departed for terra incognita nearly two days prior.

"Nothing." Zell rolled off of his elbows and onto his back as he pushed himself away from the tripod-mounted binoculars he had been using to observe the presidential mansion. "Sheesh! I swear they haven't left that building for like, three days or something."

Selphie folded the old issue of the Deling Tribune she had been reading. "I wonder if there's any way we could get a closer look." She indicated the shabby studio of the condemned apartment building in which the SeeDs had set up their primary observation post. "This place doesn't have a very good view of anything but the front gate."

On his back, Zell shrugged. He let his arms fall on the dusty old mattress he had dragged over to the binoculars for more comfortable viewing. "Maybe, but we might have to pay for it. There aren't many other abandoned buildings near the presidential mansion.

"Whatever." Selphie re-opened the paper. On the front page was a not-so-flattering photograph of Squall. He had both arms out and was pushing back a crowd, a dour look on his face. "Boy, Galbadia sure isn't smoothing over what happened at the negotiations in Dollett."

"Hey, is that me?" Zell said, pointing to another black-and-white photograph below a caption that read: "Galbadia Meets Unreasonable Demands to Achieve Peace".

"Probably. There's lots of pictures of all of us—haven't you seen this issue yet?" Selphie looked up again.

Zell shook his head. "No, I've been working. Lemme see it."

"You mean you've been getting fired." Selphie pointed to the unmanned binoculars. "You're supposed to be watching the mansion. You can read it when it's my turn at the binoculars. 

"Slave driver." Zell muttered as he returned to his post. "Your almost as bad as Bob." He pulled a moldy pillow under his arms, and rested his head on his hands, staring through the binoculars. "He just doesn't understand the value of good advertisement." 

"Is that what you call it? Eating all but four of what your supposed to be selling?" Selphie giggled.

"Hey, at least I didn't get fired from a toy store. I mean, how do you do **that**?" Zell twiddled the focus knobs on the binoculars.

"I think employees playing with the toys constitutes a great advertisement scheme! It's not my fault the owner didn't see it that way." Selphie shook the paper open again. 

"Well, I guess what we did isn't as bad as punching out your foreman." Said Zell.

"Yeah, Rajin's lucky he didn't get thrown in jail for that one." Selphie propped her feet up on a roll of ruined carpeting. "We're not doing so well in the 'don't attract attention to ourselves' department."

"Or the 'try to keep expenditures to a minimum' one either." 

"Well, that's not my fault. **I **got a new job after being fired." Selphie grinned, dropping the paper onto the floor. "Speaking of which, I got something that might make our watch a little more pleasant." She reached for a good-sized bag behind her chair. 

"Hey!" Zell looked back as a large piece of chocolate fudge bounced off his head. 

"Oops, sorry." Selphie giggled. 

"Holy cow! Where'd you get all that stuff!?" He pointed to the mound of sweets Selphie had piled before her. 

"Um… well… since I spent the whole day making thousands of these things, I didn't think anyone would mind me nicking one here and there. Try one, they're good." Selphie popped a piece of fudge into her mouth to demonstrate.

Zell took a cautious nibble. "Hey, they are!"

"Pretty neat, huh?" Selphie smiled slyly. "And to make sure people keep coming back for more, we put caffeine in them. We'd use nicotine, but then they wouldn't taste very good."

Quistis sighed as she climbed the stained staircase to the fifth floor of the team's observation headquarters. Irvine had arrived back at their base in one of the low-rent sectors of Deling and informed her tersely that he was no longer employed. The murderous look in his eyes had told her not to pursue the matter any further. Apparently the sharpshooter made about as good a waitress as Rajin made a dockworker, or Fujin a secretary; she rolled her eyes—or Zell a hotdog vendor. With only Selphie and herself working part time, money would get tight in a hurry, and she doubted she could count on the Garden to wire any additional funds—even if there was an inconspicuous way of picking them up.

At the top of the stairs, Irvine showed a surprising level of deference, as he held the door open for Quistis. She stepped into the abandoned studio. 

"Boingaboingaboinga! Hi, Quis isn'titagreatnighttobealive?! NothingatallhappenedthewholetimewewereonwatchexceptthataspiderscaredZellbylandingontheendofthebinocularsitwashilarious! Zooooooom!" Selphie shouted to Quistis as she swooped around the room, arms outstretched as if she were ready for takeoff. She was.

Zell wasn't in much better shape. 

After a few moments, Quistis and Irvine managed to calm Selphie and Zell down enough to keep them from ricocheting off the walls while they gave their uneventful report. Quistis then confiscated the remainder of Selphie's candy and sent the two SeeDs back to base to get some rest. 

Several more uneventful hours passed. Quistis and the mute Irvine switching watch every half-hour. A quiet knock at the door startled Quistis. In a quiet flash, Irvine was out of the chair he had been napping in and poised beside the door, his short rifle held at the ready. Pulling her coiled whip from her belt, Quistis looked over to Irvine. It was nowhere near time for their relief watch to arrive. Irvine looked back and shrugged.

"Who is it?" Quistis called, unlimbering her weapon. 

For answer, the door swung open on its creaking hinges. A short figure stepped into the room. She was barely over five feet tall, with shoulder-length black hair, flat gray eyes, and a neutral expression pasted across her unexceptional face. Beneath a dark gray jacket, she wore a heavy-looking green vest. A wide black belt with a tarnished brass buckle looped below her waist, covering the top of her kaki-colored pants. A matte-black semiautomatic pistol with a rubberized grip rested easily in her left hand, which was steadily directing the weapon at Irvine's chest. "I'm Dahyte." She said. "You can put that thing away, cowgirl, I'm your contact." 

"No offense, darlin', but I'd prefer if you holstered your pistol first." Irvine's aim didn't waver for a moment as he spoke.

Dahyte shrugged and tucked her weapon away somewhere inside her jacket. "Better?"

"Much obliged." Irvine nodded, but didn't take his finger off the trigger. "Quistis?"

"Just a moment, Irvine." Quistis held up a hand, signaling the sharpshooter to remain on guard. "You have the papers?" 

Dahyte nodded. "Signed and sealed by the Cid." Irvine tensed as her hand disappeared below her jacket once more, but relaxed when it emerged holding nothing more dangerous than several folded sheets of paper. She shook out the sheets for Quistis to inspect. 

After inspecting the proffered documents, Quistis waved a hand. "It's ok, Irvine, she's really one of ours." 

Irvine holstered his weapon in a single smooth motion. He tipped his hat. "Irvine Kinneas, pleased to meetcha, darlin'."

Dahyte's expression remained neutral. "Let's stick with Dahyte, …Mr. Kinneas." An eyebrow crept up a fraction of an inch. "I assume you're in disguise." 

Irvine shrugged. "Yup."

Quistis finished coiling her weapon, and offered her hand. "Quistis Trepe." Dahyte gave her hand a perfunctory shake. "I'm in command of this squad."

Dahyte nodded. "So I gathered from the headmaster's orders." She gestured toward the room. "Preparing to observe the subjects?"

"We've had the mansion under 'round the clock surveillance. So far there's been no activity. We were planning a way to set up an observation post closer to the mansion so we could get an idea of what's going on inside." Quistis answered.

"I'm not surprised you haven't seen anything." Dahyte frowned slightly. "The subjects haven't been in Deling."

Irvine's eyebrows shot up. "What??" 

Quistis frowned. "We received information that they would be staying in the Presidential Mansion…"

"Your sources must be out-of-date." Dahyte reached into her jacked again. "They're partially correct." She withdrew a folded sheaf of newspaper. "The sorceress and her bodyguard will be staying in the presidential residence once they return." She shook out the newspaper and pointed to the headline. 'Sorceress Candidate Returns from Week-Long Tour'

Quistis felt her mouth drop open as Dahyte handed her the article. 

"Don't worry about it. They left before you got here anyway. I've been tailing them for the past week. They'll—"

"Wait a minute! This is tomorrow's news!" Quistis pointed to the date on the newspaper page. "How did you get this?" 

Dahyte's features shifted from frowning back to neutrality. "I have my sources." She shrugged. "The government's been keeping it quiet, so I'm not surprised you didn't know." She paused for a moment. "As I was saying; they'll be arriving tomorrow."

Irvine spoke up. "I thought you said that you were following them."

Dahyte turned. "I took the train. They'll be arriving by airship."

The first rays of morning had begun to turn the high cirrus clouds a cotton candy pink in the aqua sky. The snow blanketing the highest peaks of the serrated alpine horizon was shining a brilliant silver. Squall turned his head slightly as he felt the now-familiar pressure of a pair of slender arms wrapping around his waist. 

"Did you ever know anything could be so beautiful?" Rinoa sighed in his ear.

Shunning the spectacular view afforded by the plate-glass windows of the zeppelin's forward viewing deck, Squall smiled happily down at the sorceress. "Yes." 

"Ooh, you're turning into a pretty good flatterer, Squall Leonhart." She said, giving his side a squeeze and turning to look out at the view from fifteen thousand feet. "How long have you been up?" 

Squall checked his wrist chronometer. "For the past hour or so." 

"Ugh, and you still look rested." Rinoa shoved him away. "You're a disgusting morning person. Blech!"

Turning, Squall regarded Rinoa, taking in her sleep-tousled hair and the oversized soft shirt and pants she wore as a nightgown. "And you most definitely are not."

"That's right." She confirmed. _At least… not when I'm alone._ She sighed slightly.

Squall frowned at her slightly. "Rinoa? Is something bothering you?" _Besides the fact that you've been recruited by the man you seem to hate to serve as sorceress for a country you hate and you can't seem to say no?_

A slightly forced smile returned to Rinoa's face. "No, everything's fine." She drew very close to Squall standing on tiptoe as if to peck him on the cheek. Beneath her breath, she whispered: "I'll tell you later."

Squall's training kept his expression from changing even by one iota as his mind raced furiously, translating the message. _A whispered 'I'll tell you later' means we can't talk here, means we're being watched, probably means that we're bugged, and that means that something is very, very wrong—besides the obvious. _He searched Rinoa's face for a clue.

She simply smiled at him. "I'm going to get changed. Want to meet me in the dining room in a few minutes?" 

Squall smiled opaquely—as he had been taught. "Of course." 

If Squall had hopes that Rinoa would let him know what was happening over breakfast they went unfulfilled. Nor did she speak anything to him—besides the usual light banter—during the airship's descent and docking at the single mooring tower of the airfield of Kodiak Springs—the tiny skiing village at the base of Little Grendel Mountain—their first stop during the week-long tour of Galbadian territory.

After alighting from the airship, a limousine whisked the couple away to the base of the resort nestled at the base of the mountain. Wrapped in heavy but warm nylon-and-fleece jackets, skiing overalls, and thick gloves, the two crunched out onto the deep, icy snow that coated everything in the high alpine environment. Around them, the open snowfield of the base of the ski area was filled with bustling skiers and snowboarders dressed in multicolored winter apparel. Their deferential, but ever-present attendants conjured up—from parts unknown—a rack of skiing and snowboarding equipment that drew envious stares from passing winter sports enthusiasts. 

Having spent a semester at the garden's alpine warfare center—hidden high in the mountains of Balamb's northern coast—Squall had fairly extensive training on skis. He selected a pair of long red boards with traversing bindings.

Rinoa chose a white snowboard with a large blue circle inscribed with the letters 'BG' on the base, and a pair of hard step-in bindings. 

Once they had selected their equipment, the attendants and the equipment rack vanished. Throughout the entire process, Rinoa had done an excellent job of keeping up a steady—if one sided—light banter. Squall feared that his participation in the conversation was lacking, as he couldn't keep his mind on the topic at hand. Instead, he noted the two skiers who followed them as he and Rinoa pushed themselves across the base area. They were dressed in drab coats, meant to be inconspicuous—which immediately made them stand out from the garish colors of the rest of the snow-loving crowd.

Pushing herself along with one foot, Rinoa suddenly broke off and dragged Squall toward a slow-moving double chairlift. "Over here."

Squall nearly fell as he was dragged into the path of the cable-driven bench. He recovered just in time to sit down hard on the chair as it swung under him, slamming into the backs of his knees. 

As the chair towed them into the air, Rinoa turned to Squall. "What was the first thing you said to me after we kissed for the second time?" 

Squall frowned. "Rinoa, this isn't the—"

"Please, Squall." Rinoa grabbed his hand. "Just tell me."

Squall sighed. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" He paused, but Rinoa just looked at him. "I said that I didn't agree to go to Timber just to get you to kiss me." He sighed. "Or something to that effect." 

"Oh, thank god! It really IS you!" Rinoa twisted around and hugged Squall in an awkward embrace that threatened to send them both plummeting to the ground—thirty feet below.

"Woa! Careful!" Squall's ski pole clanked against the metal of the chair as he grabbed the rail to stabilize himself. 

Rinoa released him. "And no, I'm not going to let you forget that."

"I didn't think so." With a flick of his head, Squall indicated the seat a few chairs behind them—now occupied by two skiers in exceptionally drab garments. "We're being followed."

Rinoa grimaced slightly. "I know, those are probably our bodyguards—if that's how Galbadia's government still works, but there's something else going on here." 

"I don't understand; something else?" He frowned. "And how could I be anyone but myself?"

"I'm not quite sure. I noticed it during the negotiations in Dollett. Galbadia—at least, the Galbadia I remember—would never make the kind of concessions their negotiators were making. It was almost as if their representatives were instructed to give in to our demands."

Squall blinked. "You don't think they were sincere?" 

Rinoa shook her head. "No. Not in the slightest." She shrugged slightly. "I'm not really surprised at that. I mean, Galbadia's notorious for not keeping promises… but there was something else that's been bothering me."

Squall finished securing his poles under one leg, and held up a hand. "Hold on, we might be bugged. Before you say anything more…" He trailed off as Rinoa shook her head.

"We're not, I checked." 

"You… checked?" Squall cocked his head to the side.

"Yeah." Rinoa didn't elaborate.

"Okay… but why didn't you think I was myself?" Squall frowned.

"That goes along with what I think is wrong…" She smiled. "But now I'm sure you're you. Nobody else could be so…"

"Stupid?"

"Endearing." Rinoa giggled. 

Squall sighed. "So how could I be somebody else?" 

"Well… this all started when we got to Deling." She frowned. "When we met with that man—the Pro-Tem President, and he asked me to take over as sorceress…"

"You mean your father? General Richard Caraway?" Squall wanted to be sure they were talking about the same person.

Rinoa's expression hardened. "That man is not my father." 

Squall spread his hands. "Rinoa, I know you and your father have your differences, but you can't change blood. You're going to have to—"

Rinoa shook her head violently. "No no! That's just it. He's really **not **my father!" She looked up. "Whoops, we're going to have to get off soon. How fast can you ski?"

"I'm well trained, how fast can you ride?" 

"When I was younger, me, my mother, and my father used to come up to this exact resort on vacations together. I can manage." She paused. "Anyway, if they haven't changed things, there's a place we can go from this lift… just follow me."

Squall had his poles out in preparation for unloading. "Whatever you say."

As they stood, sliding over the ice-encrusted unloading platform, Rinoa stomped down with her free foot, latching herself into the bindings, and shoved off of the chair for added momentum. The chair swung back, and hit Squall a glancing blow across the shoulders as he slid down the offloading ramp.

Rinoa was fast. Despite the fact that she had no poles, Squall was hard-pressed to keep up with her. She streaked down the steep slope, skimming within inches of trees, rocks, and other skiers. Crouching, and bent nearly double, Rinoa picked up speed down a long decline, then straightened, and threw her arms out to her sides. Leaning left so far that her gloved hand touched the snow; she carved a deep trench across the face of the slope as she sailed into the entrance to a narrow side trail. 

Bearing down hard on his downhill ski, Squall's knee dug into the slope as he hauled the high-speed turn right behind Rinoa. As he dropped down onto the relatively flat surface of the cross fall-line track, he saw Rinoa jump off a small lip on the downhill side of the traversing trail. As she dropped down into the woods, Rinoa showed off a bit by kicking her snowboard up and grabbing the edge with one hand. She straightened the board before she landed in the deep off-trail powder. Ramping off the same lip, Squall crossed his skis behind his back, throwing both arms out to his sides for stability. As he plowed into the waist-deep snow, he lost his balance for a moment, and fell over backwards. He managed to pop back upright a moment later without sacrificing too much momentum. As he regained his feet, he saw Rinoa disappear into the thick forest.

For a moment, Squall was concerned by the fact that he could no longer see Rinoa, and had only the deep trench her snowboard cut through the powder to follow, but then her trail cut sharply upward after wrapping close around the trunk of a large pine, and his skis clattered noisily on rock as he slid into the entrance of a rather large cave. Rinoa had already stepped out of her own bindings. Hands on hips, she regarded him. "Finally."

"You… are… pretty… fast." Squall panted, unlatching his own bindings. He looked around. The cave was actually more of an indentation in a large, rocky ledge, bounded on the sides by tall, deep snowdrifts that reached up to the bottom of the overhanging rock, which formed the ceiling.

"Yeah…" Rinoa took a seat on a small outcropping of bare rock. "…I used to really enjoy this."

"You're not now?" Free of his equipment, Squall sat beside her.

Rinoa shook her head. "Look at this, now it's that ditsy little non-SeeD who's insisting on being serious—ruining everybody's fun."

"Rinoa…" She was seated with both hands gripping her knees. Squall tentatively tried to lay a comforting hand on hers. "…I never thought you were ditsy." His glove was in the way. Squall removed it. "…and I'm not a SeeD anymore."

"I know, Squall. I'm sorry to bring it up." She removed her own glove. "I'm just scared, I don't want to talk about… things." The air was bitingly cold; Squall's hand was not much warmer. "I wish, just once, that we could be together." She turned her head toward him. "Not fighting together, not planning together, just together for the sake of being near each other." She shivered.

"We are now." Squall retrieved Rinoa's glove with his free hand. "You'd better put this back on, it's cold."

"I know…" Rinoa pulled the heavy three-fingered mitt over her numb hand as squall donned his own glove. "…but we shouldn't be. There are things we need to talk about."

Squall nodded, lifting his gloved hand and flexing his cold-stiffened fingers. "Circumstances." 

"Yeah." Rinoa had hoped to place her hand in Squall's again, but it was not meant to be. She sighed. "Well, now that I've spent so many of our few moments together moaning about how we're never together, I guess I'd better tell you what's going on."

Squall blinked and waited.

Rinoa took a breath. "When I said that that man we met in Deling wasn't my father, I really meant it." She closed her eyes, remembering the night of their arrival, their meeting with the de-facto head of the Galbadian government. Remembering how profuse his apologies had been, how sweet his words had been, and how reasonable his offers. She also recalled how absolutely insincere everything he had done had seemed, how forced his penitent expressions were, how false his mannerisms. "That man is a fraud."

Squall's brow furrowed. "You're sure? He looked exactly the same as when we met him before… he acted the same, spoke in the same way." 

"He's close, he's very close. I know you're trained to recognize this sort of thing, but I know the man. I know how he acts, how he speaks, all the little tiny details that make my father who he is… and that man was not my father." She drew in another breath. "Whoever he is, he's very good. He's studied my father; knows his mannerisms, his inflections, even knows about nearly everything that's happened between us." She opened her eyes. "And he looks exactly like him." Rinoa shook her head. "But he's different." Seeing Squall's expression, Rinoa continued. "No, really. You saw my father, how he acted toward me. Do you really think—after the way he treats me—that he'd send me on a week-long luxury airship cruise for two with you?" 

Squall gave her an innocent look. "What's wrong with that?"

Rinoa blew out an exasperated breath. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. You're the one who told Irvine and I to 'have fun.'"

Squall shrugged. "And Selphie too. But I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Rinoa shook her head to hide a small smile. "Never mind." 

"Well… so the president of Galbadia is an imposter… what does that mean for us?" Squall cocked his head.

Rinoa swallowed, looking down at her feet she closed her eyes. "He's not an imposter."

"What?" Squall was taken aback. "But you just said—"

"It's not that simple, Squall." Rinoa shuddered. "General Richard Caraway, commander of the Galbadian military, acting president of Galbadia… my father… has been possessed."

Squall's eyes widened. "How can that—" He felt an icy chill, that had nothing to do with the air temperature, grip his heart. "Oh no…" His mouth was dry. "Oh no…" He repeated. "Ultimecia's castle—we were so intent of killing the sorceress—"

"We never thought to look for Odine's machine." Rinoa finished. 

The silence that fell was iron-clad. In the snow-stifled forest not a single bird chirped, the wind was still, nothing broke the suffocating silence.

At last, Squall felt he had to speak, so he gave voice to the fears that ran through their minds. "Now I understand why you had to ask me those things." He shook his head. "It could be anyone, anywhere. It's not just sorceresses."

"I know."

Squall's mind raced. "If they've come back, they must want something. Because they've tried to deceive us, then they must see us as threats. If they see us as obstacles to their goals…"

"They'll kill us, or possess us and force us to kill ourselves." Rinoa turned her head from Squall. "It's happening again, Squall." One hand came up to guard her face from him. "They're going to want to use my powers again… they're going to take control again." Rinoa gasped as she fought to hold down her fear. "You can't… you can't stay. I'm going to become a danger again—that's why they want me to be sorceress. You can't trust me any more."

Squall placed a hand against Rinoa's own, she tried to pull away but Squall's mind was already made up. "No. Not this time, not ever." He gently pulled Rinoa's hand away from her face until he could look into her frightened, brimming eyes. 

She tried to reason with him. "But they can—"

Squall cut her off with a kiss. Not hard, not stifling, not intense and passionate, but gentle, quick, and startling in its softness. Rinoa blinked. Squall smiled and didn't draw back, instead—as if someone might overhear, he whispered quietly into the secluded space between their lips. "You are what I care about Rinoa, and even if it's dangerous, even if it's foolish, even if it's the last thing in the world I should do, I have to be with you." He still held her hand. He drew it to his chest. "For me, there is no other way."

"I know. I can't stand when we're apart, I'm just so afraid I'll hurt you, Squall." 

Squall moved Rinoa's hand over his heart. "This is the only way you can do me hurt, Rinoa." 

_Squall, no. Please. You know I'm not strong enough to do what has to be done. Why now? Why is it you have do all the right things at exactly the right time?_

"No matter what happens, we'll be together through this." Squall was still gazing directly into her eyes. 

Rinoa bowed her head in acquiescence. As she felt Squall drawing her close, she sighed. _I'm sorry I couldn't stop you, I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect you. Squall…_

…

He was pacing again. But of course, he couldn't do it in the proper manner—or better yet, in a room far from here. No, instead of a rhythmic tap-tap-tapping, he sounded instead like a drunken three-legged duck. Tap-clomp-tap-clomp… clomp, clomp, clomp-tap-tap, tap. Kiros's pen tore into the paper he was in the process of signing at a particularly loud clomp. He threw the heavy writing utensil down in disgust. It rolled across the desk, teetered on the edge, the embossed seal of Esthar pointing toward the ceiling. Kiros snatched for it. As if making up it's mind, the pen toppled off the desk and promptly disappeared down a ventilation grate just ahead of Kiros's grasping fingers. 

The door to the private office of the president of Esthar banged open. "Laguna! For the good of Esthar, for the good of yourself, and most importantly; for the good of my sanity, go and see the damn boy!" 

From the far end of a long polished streak of ornamental floor tile, the president of Esthar looked up at his old friend. "Huh?" He said. A bit more presidentially, he added: "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, Mr. President. You know exactly what I'm talking about. It is the very reason you are up and pacing your office instead of reclining in your oh-so-comfortable—**and quiet**—chair behind the desk." Kiros stepped over the threshold and into the office proper as he spoke.

"No, that's not it… I, um… I was thinking about some very important legislation—uh, trying to decide whether I should sign it into law or not." Laguna gestured to his desk. It was bare.

Kiros shook his head. "Old friend, you've been signing into law—without more than a cursory glance—every bill I've Okayed for nearly a decade now. That's not what's on your mind. Why don't you just go and see him?"

Seeing that he was not fooling his compatriot in the least, Laguna waved a hand to the window. "I can't, Kiros. Esthar needs me. After the Lunar Cry—after the Galbadian attacks—these people need me."

"No, Laguna, you can't use those excuses any more. You've done all you can, for the moment, to help Esthar recover from those things." Kiros's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "My friend, you are a great leader in times of trouble, but those times are past for now. Esthar has benefited from your leadership, but now—like ten years ago—the time for leadership is past. What Esthar needs now is a good legislator." Kiros spread his hands. "And you, my friend, are not a good legislator. I can fill in for you while you're away."He rolled his eyes. _And keep things running a lot smoother without your constant interruptions. _"If Ward were here, he would agree with me."

From behind Kiros, just joining the conversation—yet knowing which of the pair of Estharian officials tended to be more rational—Ward nodded.

Laguna spread his hands. "I can't go, you guys. He hates me. You should have seen how he acted in Timber."

Kiros was about to deny Laguna's claim when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Turning, he looked up at Ward. On the large man's face was a sad smile. Ward blinked, once, slowly. 

"See? Even Ward agrees with me on that." Laguna placed his hands on his hips.

Kiros sighed. "I can't deny the possibility." He shook his head slightly. "But that's not going to change if you stay here and hide from him."

"I'm not hiding, Kiros… It's just… he doesn't need me—he never did." Laguna frowned.

"If that's what you want to believe, my friend…" Kiros dropped his hands to his sides. "…then only tell it to yourself, Ward and I prefer not to be lied to." 

"Aw, come on, Kiros. I'm not trying to justify what I did…" _Right?_ "I mean, I can't—I've got to bear that, you know?" The president of Esthar scuffed a foot on the floor. "How would it look? After all this time, when—yeah, maybe he did need me to be there—and now… now that he's a big shot over in Galbadia, I come waltzing over, wanting to be friends." He shook his head. "I can't be that kind of a…" Laguna trailed off.

A frown formed on Kiros's face. "Appearances? You've changed again, man. And I don't like it at all." With that, Kiros turned and left. Ward went with him.

Left standing alone by the echoing slam of the door, the president of Galbadia looked down at his feet. _I can't go back to him, I don't deserve it._ He whispered to himself. "I'm sorry, Squall." _But he's doing fine. He's through all the trials now. I wish I had been there to help… but that's in the past—can't do anything about it._ Laguna sighed. "He probably doesn't even care anyway."

…

The flash of sheet lightning and accompanying rumble of thunder—muffled by the doubly insulated Plexiglas window caused Anthony Wecheck head to snap up from the spot on his chest where it had descended as he had begun to nod off. Rubbing his tired eyes, he glanced down at the flat, glass-covered schematic table before him. Unfolding his arms and then extending them high above his head in an exaggerated stretch, he threw his head back and yawned gapingly. The graveyard shift was boring with a capital 'B'—but such was the life of a Galbadian special agent. Or at least that of a special agent assigned to baby-sit two kids on some nonsense tour. He rolled his eyes, and slowly let his arms fall down to his side. Focusing at last on the horizontal display below him, he noted with satisfaction, that both subjects were still in the main observation lounge, most likely asleep on one of the posh leather couches. He sighed, they would certainly be a lot more comfortable than he was at the moment. Despite his discomfort, special agent Wecheck's head began slowly nodding downward toward the top of his collarless Kevlar vest. Eventually he drifted off into a deep, dreamless unconsciousness. Even the bumping jolt that ran through the giant airship as it was struck by a particularly violent downdraft failed to wake him. 

Seconds after the automatic dampening servos along the skin of the Zeppelin's main helium bag flattened the vibrations of the pernicious air currents inside the thunderheads through which the ship now cruised, Rinoa Heartilly stepped out from the doorway behind agent Wecheck. "Sir?" She stepped forward and shook his shoulder lightly. "Sir? Can you hear me?" Satisfied that the man was fully under the influence of the sleeping spell, she stepped over to a small cabinet attached to one of the room's walls. Squall Leonhart entered the room as the sorceress unlocked the cabinet with a wave of her hand. 

"Are you ready?" Squall asked, quietly, as he took the tiny ear bud and throat microphone that Rinoa had removed from the cabinet. 

Rinoa pressed the activation switches for her own microphone and earpiece. "I should be the one to go."

"No. You have to be the one to stay here. If you see anyone about to discover me, you can direct their attention elsewhere." Squall pressed the sticky side of the wafer-like microphone to the spot below the chin where jaw and neck meet. 

Her earpiece securely in place, Rinoa shook her head. "I just don't like controlling people like that… It's…"

Squall laid his receiver on the table and placed a hand on Rinoa's shoulder. "We don't have to do this." He raised his other hand, palm up. "We can wait for another opportunity to try finding out what's going on—they may not even have the information here, aboard the ship." He spread both hands. "It's ok if you want to hold off."

"No. No… We need to know as soon as possible." She picked up Squall's ear bud. "I'm just being nervous." 

Squall nodded as he placed the receiver in his ear. "Okay. We need to move fast." He looked up. _No goodbyes._

Rinoa closed her eyes and held up a hand. "Go." 

And Squall was gone.

But not really. As she walked over to the electronic surveillance schematic table, Rinoa heard Squall's voice in her ear. "Are you reading me?"

"Yes." She placed a finger over a moving red dot on the blueprint-like diagram of the airship laid out before her. "I can see you too."

"Right, I'm on my way to the aft airlock. If I remember this design, the only way to get to navigation is to go around the outside of the gondola." Squall checked his wrist chronometer as he jogged down the narrow, carpeted hallway. The upper corners of the square hall were lit by peach fluorescent lights set behind frosted acrylic panels. The bottom corners of the hall were lined by tiny floor lamps that cast a soft white glow on the spongy red carpet. He noted the yellow lamps placed intermittently among the white, indicating the path to the airlock exit.

"If you don't want to be seen, yes." Rinoa's voice was rang clearly in his left ear.

Squall stopped in front of a hatch. On the wall to the left, a red light winked at him. "Ok, I'm there."

"I'm pressurizing the chamber for you now. It will unlock in a second." Rinoa's voice paused. "I've disabled the airlock's sensors, so it won't show up in the other security lounge."

Squall spoke to the hatch. "Is there anyone inside that room?"

"No. No movement, except on the bridge. I think everyone else is asleep."

"In the crew quarters?"

"Yes." Rinoa paused again. "There aren't any sensors on the outside of the gondola—I won't be able to see you when you're out there." 

The red light blinked green, and the hatch slid open. Squall stepped inside the small chamber. "I won't be gone long. Don't worry." 

"Who said I was worried?" Rinoa's voice came after a lengthy silence. "Don't forget to grab an oxygen mask and a harness before I depressurize the chamber." 

"Already got it on, can you still hear me?" Squall snapped the buckles of the yellow safety harness closed over his black jumpsuit.

"Yes, loud and clear. The outer door will open once the pressure has equalized." Rinoa's voice said in Squall's ear.

Squall yawned widely to release air from his inner ear, as the pressure in the chamber dropped. The outer door slid back on its tracks, revealing the inky blackness of the storm-darkened night sky. Outside, lightning flashed, dim in the light from the chamber's bare bulbs. Holding on to a safety rail, Squall reached around the outer hatch's frame and snapped his harness's wires into a roller rail attached to the outer hull of the airship's gondola. Taking a deep breath, he swung himself out into the storm. There was a moment of panic as he flailed about wildly for a support bar with his free hand and foot. At last he made contact with the metal rungs, and pulled himself in close to the rain-slickened hull. Clinging tightly to the metal bars, Squall was buffeted by the gusty wake of the gondola. On his face, he felt the heavy mist that passed for rain this high up in the thunderstorm. Through his gloves, he could feel the cold of a thin sheeting of ice that was beginning to build up on the outside of the airship. 

"Squall? Squall? Are you okay?" Rinoa's concerned voice asked in his ear.

"I'm outside. Shut the airlock. The lights are keeping my eyes from adjusting." Squall squinted, trying to make out the shape of the next rung of the ladder leading to the upper deck airlock of the airship's gondola. The intermittent white, red, and green flashes of the airship's running lights were—besides infrequent pale lightning—the only illumination available on the windowless aft hull.

"Okay. I'm going to open the upper airlock now. You'll be able to see it when you climb up." A bit of static crackled along with Rinoa's voice. The tiny receiver/transmitter devices were nearing the limits of their range—the thick metal hull of the gondola and storm interference weren't helping the situation either.

His night-vision sufficiently recovered, Squall reached up for the next rung of the ladder. "I'm going to stop talking until I reach the top of the gondola." He needed to concentrate.

"Okay. I'll wait for your next signal…" Rinoa trailed off. "Be careful."

Instead of responding, Squall levered himself up a step on the treacherously slick ladder. The sooner he reached the upper airlock, the better. 

It was only a single story climb up to the second level, but the darkness of the night, and the ice on the ladder served to slow Squall's progress to a crawl. He allowed himself a look downward—there was nothing but blackness below him. Twenty thousand feet of blackness. 

Squall reached the top rung of the ladder after a few moments of very slow climbing, and peered over a small metal ledge. Ten feet in front of him, the open upper airlock doorway glowed invitingly. Very carefully, he unhooked his safety cables from the guide rail on the side of the gondola, and reached up, snapping them into another guide rail, which ran along the bottom of the steel-reinforced fabric of the Zeppelin's gasbag. He waited a moment for a particularly violent storm-induced shudder to die out before pulling himself up onto the ledge. 

The Pendiak glacier is a massive river of ice that wends its way down from the range of Galbadia's central mountains almost all the way into the foothills east of the range. One of its most remarkable features is located at the point where it terminates in a wall of ice, nearly one thousand feet tall. The wall is caused by the geothermic action of the Menthour calderas—an ancient volcanic basin located at the foot of the Pendiak Glacier. The hot springs in the calderas radiate a large amount of heat into the surrounding environment. This heat serves as a barrier to the ice flowing along the Pendiak. At the point where the glacier ends, waves of heated air rise up along its face, melting and cracking the ice. Normally, these hot air-drafts form a thermal about two miles high. During the day, the thermal is soaring grounds for hundreds of Thrustaevis. Occasionally, tourists to the hot springs will spy a Ruby Dragon or Elnoyle soaring in giant spirals high in the clouds. 

About once every week, a section of rotten ice at the foot of the Pendiak will calve off and fall into the bubbling hot pools of muddy water formed by the geothermal cavities and the normal runoff from the Pendiak. When this happens, the meeting of boiling water and frozen ice creates a giant blast of steam that can rise as high as seventy thousand feet. 

This particular night, the rain from the early fall thunderstorm, along with the constant heat from the Menthour hot springs conspired to send a two-hundred thousand ton chunk of ice plummeting into the bubbling hot springs. Unfortunate, indeed, that this event happened at night, for tourists, asleep in the lodges scattered around the Menthour caldera's rim would waken in the morning to see the towering cloud of steam streaming east on a steady wind and sigh at their missed opportunity to see the spectacular display of nature's power.

At twenty-two thousand feet, as Squall Leonhart placed his second booted foot on the last rung of the ladder on the outside of the airship's gondola, the giant Zeppelin nosed into the giant updraft of heated water vapor and air. Immediately, the nose of the airship was pushed upward, bending the ship like a soft noodle. Computer-controlled servos in the gasbag made automatic adjustments, redistributing the strain on the fabric skin. Basketball-court sized elevators on the airship's tail changed position, pushing the airship's tail down to even out the flexural stress on the gasbags. As the airship slowly tilted, Squall's left foot slid on a patch of ice, and he fell.

Squall dropped less than half a foot before the safety cables attached to his harness stopped him. Now supporting Squall's entire weight, the roller bar in the rail began to slide downhill—toward the rear of the airship. Dangling from the harness, Squall made a desperate grab at the top rung of the ladder attached to the rear of the gondola. His fingers barely brushed the bar as he slid out of reach. As the airship tilted upward, Squall's roller support began sliding faster down the increasing slope.

As he was swung out of the lee of the Gondola, the sixty-mile-per-hour slipstream caught Squall, and sent him whizzing downhill—away from the gondola and airlock. 

Careful not to panic and accidentally hit the release lever—even as his speed increased—Squall reached up and pulled down on the braking lever of the roller support. The icing mist had frozen it solid. As his moving harness twisted in the wind, Squall caught sight of the rear of the Zeppelin—illuminated by a quick flash of lighting. The roller rail down which he now slid terminated abruptly in front of one of the airship's giant turbofan engines.

_No choice._ Still strangely calm, Squall reached up toward one of the cables—used for controlled motion—that ran parallel to the roller track. At nearly fifty miles-per-hour, his gloved left hand tightened around the cable. 

Oddly enough, though there were no de-icing mechanisms on the ladders at the rear of the airship's gondola, the handhold cables leading to the engine maintenance catwalks were heated. 

The warm, dry cable bit into Squall's glove. Adrenaline pumping through his arteries allowed Squall's nervous system to override the synaptic release signal that his spinal cord automatically sent to his left hand as the cable burned through the Kevlar palm of Squall's glove and tore into his hand. Holding the cable in a death-grip, Squall slid toward the end of the roller rail and the whirling fan blades of the engine. Twenty feet from the maw of the turbofan, a thought wended its way past his gritted teeth and tensed muscles. _I'm not going to make it._ Squall was not slowing down fast enough—he would be sucked into the airship's engine. 

Time slowed down, allowing Squall—now facing away from the engine—to count off the feet remaining before the end of his life. _Ten… fifteen… why can't I think of anything else? Eight… five… …Rinoa…_ Squall felt a sudden jolt… then nothing.

And then Squall felt something, though he almost wished he hadn't. His entire left side seemed to be on fire… no… it was really just his arm and hand—though they were providing enough pain for five bodies. Not even realizing that he had closed them, Squall forced his eyes open. A yellow stop-block on the roller track, illuminated by the blinking yellow lights above and below the inlet of the engine had a few words stenciled on it. 'Ensure fuel lines to engine are closed before performing maintenance.'

Squall read this line over a second time, then a third. Suddenly, a sharp jolt from his left side reminded him of more pressing matters. Gritting his teeth, Squall waited for the burst of pain to subside. It did not. In fact, the pain worsened. Squall's feet and lets curled up beneath him in unconscious agony. So tightly were his muscles clenched, that both his hamstrings cramped at the same time. The additional hurt cleared Squall's mind for a moment—long enough for him to remember a tiny bit of training. _**Think!** Do you want to die up here?_

Squall reached up with his good arm and tried to probe his dislocated shoulder. He tasted blood in his mouth as he bit down on his tongue. It helped a little. Thinking that he had identified both ball and socket, Squall pulled his right arm back. Before he could think about what he was doing, he slammed the flat of his right palm into his left shoulder. There was a horrendous popping. The last thing Squall felt was his left front molar chipping as his jaw locked.

Someone was screaming in Squall's ear. No words, just an incoherent shriek. His eyes snapped open. Everything was black. _Where the hell am I?_ Or maybe that was correct. _I'm in hell?_ His left side did indeed feel like someone was grinding fire and brimstone into it. His legs hurt like hell too. A flickering yellow demon danced before his eyes. As his eyes focused, Squall noted the peculiar rectangular shape of the demon, and the words written on it. _No such luck._ He turned his head away from the stop block. The inflow to the shrieking turbofan was pulling Squall's dangling body toward the jet intake at a seventy-degree angle. His right foot bumped against the outer cowling of the engine—inches from the spinning blades. He gazed at the hub of the engine, painted with a white swirl. That swirl was spinning. Spinning… spinning… spinning…

The tiny anemometer at the top of the mast whirled round and round. Squall watched it, mesmerized by patterns of light playing off the sailcloth reflecting the warm glint of the sun on the sparkling aquamarine sea. A cool, wet toe poking him in the side brought him out of his reverie.

"What'cha thinking about?" Rinoa cocked her head to the side.

Squall regarded her. Like himself, Rinoa was clad in swimwear, appropriate to Raio De Sol—the warm, sunny, white-beached, paradise that was their second stop on the 'tour.' However, unlike Squall, she had chosen that which was intended to reveal more than conceal—much more, in fact. Squall again managed to keep from gulping, but he did look away. "Oh, nothing." _Or at least, I **wasn't** thinking about anything in particular…_

Rinoa sighed. "Must be nice." _Why did I say that? I know out here is one of our only chances to talk in private, but why can't I just relax for a little bit? _She frowned. _I'm turning into a regular…_

"Squall Leonhart?" Squall was looking at her with a quirky expression.

Rinoa was taken aback. "How did you…?"

Squall shrugged. "It just came to me. Is that what happens when you…"

"Finish your thoughts?" Rinoa smiled a small smile. "Yeah, I guess so." _Maybe some day, we'll have time to figure out what's going on with **us**._

"But for now, we'd better save the world." Squall sighed.

_Again._ Rinoa nodded.

"Again." Squall confirmed. 

"Okay…" Rinoa paused as her mind shifted gears. "Well, it's obvious this tour we're on is just an excuse to get us out of Deling."Rinoa stopped suddenly as she felt a pair of sun-warmed arms wrap around her. The trampoline deck of the tiny three-hulled beach skiff they were sailing in sagged slightly under their combined weight as Squall slid up next to her.

"Rinoa, let's not save the world this time." Squall said quietly into her ear. "Let's just save ourselves. Let someone else do it this time. Haven't we done enough, been through enough?"

"Squall we can't…" Rinoa began.

"Yes we can. We could point this sailboat straight out, and just keep going." Squall waved out at the deep blue line where sea met sky. "Centra's out there somewhere. A whole continent with hardly a single person on it. We could disappear forever in a place like that."

"Yeah, by getting eaten." Rinoa turned to him. "Squall, we haven't got any weapons, or food, or water, or anything that we'd need to survive." 

Squall looked into her eyes. "But you'd go if we did?" 

There was a long pause. Rinoa looked down. "…No." She said quietly. "I… I can't run from this, Squall. I'm afraid, but I can't run away. If I do, I'll be running for the rest of my life. Whatever's going to happen, I've got to face it."

Squall tilted his head slightly. "A long time ago, you said you didn't think you were as strong, or as fast, or as skillful as a SeeD." As Squall spoke, Rinoa lifted her eyes to meet his. "But, Rinoa, you're the strongest person I know. And not because you're a sorceress." 

"Because I have to be." Rinoa said.

"Maybe… but you don't have to be alone." Squall paused. "What I mean is; you can always count on me. No matter what, I'll always be by your side." Squall was having trouble phrasing his thoughts. "So… if we need to talk, if we need to plan, if we have to fight… no matter how I feel, I'll be there talking, planning, fighting with you." 

Rinoa's eyebrow and the side of her mouth quirked up.

"Oh crap! That's not what I meant to say… I mean, fighting beside you." Squall belatedly amended.

"I know." Suddenly, Rinoa was very, very glad to have Squall's arms around her. _My silly little knight, you make me so happy._

"Me too." Squall whispered ever so quietly as Rinoa sighed and leaned against him. "Me too."

Squall jerked suddenly as he regained consciousness. Again, it took a moment before he realized where he was. Even the slight motion of turning his head into the howling wind and looking toward the front of the airship caused tiny sparkles to worm their way around the outer regions of his periphery vision. _I must be in shock… losing consciousness like that... my hand! _

Squall slowly uncurled his right arm from the position instinct had told it to return to—wrapped protectively over his injured left hand. Even in the dimness of the intermittent warning lights placed around the engine intake, Squall could see that his hands were abnormally pale. Though, by some miracle, his oxygen mask was still strapped over his nose and mouth, Squall was having trouble catching his breath. The edges of his vision blurred into smoky blackness. He felt a moist warmth across the right side of his chest where his injured appendage had curled. _I must be bleeding pretty badly… it sure feels like it. _Despite the numbing cold, Squall's hand still felt like he were holding hot coals. As he shifted position, a sharp wave of pain shot up his left arm—adding to the tight ache in his shoulder. Squall's vision faded. His words slurring, he weakly waved his right arm in the wind and mumbled a Curaga spell. As the electric blue sparkles of the healing spell beat back the darkness, Squall's mind cleared slightly. He needed to apply a tourniquet to his left arm before he lost too much blood—if he hadn't already. To do that, he'd need to remain conscious long enough to dig the medical supplies out of their pouch in his equipment belt. However, this seemed an unlikely prospect as his vision began to fade again. 

Drawing as deep a breath as he dared, Squall cast a second, slightly more coherent healing spell. In the illumination from the magical energy, he grabbed hold of a length of slack in his harness cable and one-handedly looped it around a buckle on his belt. Reaching up, he opened the top catches on his safety harness. Squall dropped six inches before the slack in the cable was taken up, and his belt hook prevented his rapid descent from turning into disastrous free-fall. Kicking off the cowling of the Zeppelin's still-running engine, Squall flipped himself upside down. Blood that had been pooling in his legs and feet suddenly rushed to his head and the dark tunnel that Squall's exertations had reduced his world to slowly widened, allowing Squall to become acutely aware of the whirling turbofan blades, now inches from his head. 

Even with his knees bent, Squall's feet bumped the bottom of the Zeppelin's gasbag. He straightened his legs, and took an experimental step forward. The thin buildup of ice in the roller rail crackled as Squall's lifeline support moved an obliging few inches forward. The howling winds now blasting into Squall's face shoved his un-aerodynamic body backwards, his boots lost purchase on the slick fabric, and Squall fell back the few inches he had managed to move forward.

At twenty-seven thousand feet, in an icy mist, hanging upside-down from the bottom of a giant Zeppelin, inches away from certain death, kept alive only by the tensile strength of a quarter-inch thick steel cable, Squall Leonhart was completely stuck. 

In the blue glow of the fly-by-wire controls of the mostly automated airship bridge, second lieutenant Paicheli Ceitek gazed idly at the screen of the computerized autopilot as it compensated for the airship's increase in altitude. He sighed, and reclined his conning chair back a few degrees as the ship's computer cranked the aft elevators down, forcing the tail of the airship up. _This watch sure is boring… _He thought longingly of his bunk back in the crew quarters. _Still, since everybody else is probably asleep, I'm doing the most exciting thing on this oversized balloon—watching the autopilot._

Nearly one-eighth of a mile behind lieutenant Ceitek, hanging upside down, trying to dig his heels into the now steeply-sloping gas bag, Squall Leonhart might have taken issue with Paicheli's assumption, had he not been concentrating on controlling his wild slide toward the nose of the airship. This time, the slipstream flowing around the Zeppelin's gondola assisted Squall, and he managed to slow himself down enough to suffer only a jarring ten-mile-per-hour collision with the rear of the gondola. Wasting no time inspecting the results of the return trip, Squall instead pulled himself into the inviting brightness of the still-open upper airlock. As he did so, from very far away, he heard a tinny voice.

"Squall! Where are you!? Answer me!!" Over the ringing in his ears, Rinoa's voice was most decidedly the sweetest sound in the world, Squall thought.

Amazed that his earpiece was still in place, Squall reached up to the base of his throat. Sure enough, his own transmitter was still securely nestled against joint of his neck and jaw. He tried to respond, but managed only a noiseless croak.

Very worried now, Rinoa failed to notice the tiny red light that winked on inside the upper deck's airlock. "Squall?! If you can hear me, stay where you are. I'm coming out to get you."

Coughing violently, then swallowing twice to clear his throat, Squall managed a light rasp. "No. I'm in the airlock. Close the door."

"Oh, Squall! Thank God! I was getting really worried!" Rinoa's transmission paused, and the airlock door slid shut.

Swallowing to equalize the pressure in his ears, Squall pulled off his oxygen mask as the chamber pressurized. "How long was I out there?"

"Almost twenty minutes. Are you okay?" Rinoa traced her finger across the touch-pad situated beside the security schematic, unlocking the inner airlock door.

Sitting up, Squall dug into his small package of medical supplies. "I'm fine." He shook his head. "Only twenty minutes? Seemed like an eternity." 

"Tell me about it." Rinoa's voice sighed in Squall's ear. "You've only got ten minutes left before the shift change." 

Threading a plastic tie-strap just below his left bicep, Squall pulled the strip tight with his teeth as he dumped a handful of first-aid supplies out on the airlock floor. "No worries." He growled around his clenched teeth.

"Maybe we should call this off. I've got a quick route back for you." Rinoa paused. "There's an escape chute to the lower level with one-way doors. You can use it to get down, even if you couldn't to go up."

"No, I'm almost there. Just got to take care of something here first." Squall squinted in pain as he forced his clenched left fist open. His hand looked like an ill-cut piece of raw steak. Blood oozed from under a large flap of flesh that hung loosely over the deep channel the wire had cut through his palm. _At least it's oozing and not spurting. I haven't cut any major arteries._Squall didn't have time to do a proper job of disinfection—besides, that would have left telltale drippings of blood in the airlock, so far he had been careful not to smear any on the walls or floor. Instead, he tore open a small packet of alcohol and dumped the contents onto an entire roll of cotton swabs. These he pressed into the bloody gouge in his hand, holding his arm up in order to allow the blood squeezed out to flow down and soak into his sleeve. After the pain subsided a bit, Squall pulled the roll of spongy fabric tape he had been biting down on out of his mouth and wrapped a sloppy bandage around his injured appendage.

Flicking the cap off the single-use hypodermic, Squall squeezed the clear plastic pouch of elixir until fluid ran down the sides of the slender needle. Finding a vein brought to the surface of his left forearm by the tourniquet, Squall plunged the needle into his skin and squeezed the hypodermic's contents into his bloodstream. He then loosened the plastic strap on his arm to allow the mixture of coagulants, stimulants, and painkillers to flow freely through his body. As he rose unsteadily to his feet, he noticed the way his hands shook as he replaced the first-aid supplies he had used for his slapdash bandaging job.

"Rinoa?" His voice was barely a whisper. 

"Squall, are you sure you're…" Rinoa's voice was hesitant.

"Fine, fine. Could you find the nearest head for me?" Squall stepped through the open hatch and into the second floor hallway.

"The nearest what?" Rinoa queried.

"Bathroom." Squall panted.

"Oh, uh… Second door on your right." Rinoa sounded surprised.

Kneeling in the darkened lavatory, Squall felt the breeze from the pressure-suction toilet and smelled the strong chemicals that washed around the stainless steel bowl before the valve closed again. The harsh components of the elixir were never kind to the stomach. He stumbled over to the sink and spent a few precious seconds scooping water to his mouth with his right hand to wash away some of the taste of bitter bile.

"Squall, you're down to six minutes." Having realized that something had gone seriously wrong, Rinoa was doing her best to keep quiet and calm—trying hard to allow Squall to handle the situation as he was trained.

"Okay." Came a strangely weak voice. "Lead me." 

"Five doors down the hallway on your right, make a left turn." Rinoa closed her eyes. _I'm so helpless, I don't want to leave you alone up there, Squall._

"I'm here." 

Rinoa bit her lower lip. "Go forward past two hallway intersections. There's nobody around you."_I'm a sorceress… but what good does that do me, what good does it do you? _"After the second hallway, go in the second door on your right." _What does it get us, but more trouble, more burdens?_ "You're in the antechamber now. There's a second door ahead of you. Give me a second to unlock it." _And now, when I can tell you're hurt, when I know you need me… what can I do with my powers?_

"I made it. Be back in a moment. Out." Squall signaled for radio silence.

Rinoa closed her eyes. _Nothing. I have to hide them, keep them under control. Because if I don't… I might end up…_ Rinoa's eyes snapped open. "Oh no!"

"What is it?" Instead of alert to the danger, Squall's voice sounded infinitely tired.

"One of the agents… I think. He was sleeping separate from the crew—he's coming toward you." Rinoa transmitted. "You should go, now!"

"I haven't looked at everything yet, just a few more seconds." Squall's reply was staticky.

"Squall… please! Go!" Rinoa placed her finger on the red dot closing in on the entrance to the room Squall was in as if to hold it down—slow it's progress. 

"Rinoa… can you… distract him for a minute?" 

Rinoa drew back, looking down at the red dot. She shook her head. "I, I'll try…" She placed her finger back on the moving dot. _Go away._ The dot continued to blink forward, undisturbed. _What the heck am I doing?_

Special Agent Rance Pecano shook his head as he made his way down toward the chart room. He had the strangest feeling that he should look down the hallway he had just passed for some reason._ Funny._ He shrugged, and stopped before the right door.

Rinoa felt her attempt to draw the person's attention away from his destination fail. She saw the dot converge on the room occupied by Squall. She fought down a wave of panic. _If we're discovered… if they know we know… they'll come for me…_ She swallowed, and reached out toward that foreign mind again. _…I can't let that happen._ This time, in her mind, instead of a tenuous, delicate grasp on the fragile consciousness, Rinoa allowed the power she felt, pressing against the back of her mind, to flow—as if over a dam—past her wall of self-control. Her grasp on Rance Pecano's reality tightened.

"I am the **sorceress** Rinoa." She whispered without realizing she had spoken a word. "You **will** heed my will." Eyes closed, Rinoa was seeing though the mind of Agent Pecano. She could feel his will fighting against her own as she forced **her** hand away from the door knob, as **she** turned back down the passageway, as she flung **her** body away along the hallway, as **she** slammed head-first into a solid metal bulkhead.

Rinoa gasped and opened her eyes. She looked down at the display table. The red dot that was Rance Pecano glowed motionless at the far end of the hallway. Tiny frozen phantom worms crawled up from her fingertips, burrowing through her arms, into her chest. Rinoa frantically rubbed her hands over her forearms, trying to dispel this horrible slimy feeling as the aftereffects of this strange new manifestation of her power washed over her. 

Numbly, Rinoa guided Squall to the emergency escape chute. She had to sit by and wait for Squall to make his way down past the double set of hatches in the escape way. They could only be undogged manually from above, but not below. Leaving the observation room, Rinoa made her way to the bottom-level door on the chute. Even as she reached out to pull the release lever, she heard a clanking from the other side of the hatch. It swung open to reveal a much worse-for-wear Squall.

"Oh my god!" Rinoa's hand flew to her mouth. Squall seemed to be covered in blood. There were dark brown smears of it across his face, arms, and hands. Parts of the black jumpsuit glistened darkly, hinting at spots where even more of the vital liquid was escaping his body. "You're bleeding everywhere!"

Squall dismissed this comment with a shake of his head, even as he allowed the sorceress to pull his good right arm over her shoulder, allowing her to assist him in walking. "It's just a little cut. I just managed to smear it everywhere." 

Rinoa was not convinced. "Squall, you need medical attention."

"Can't. They'd know what happened." He waved his right hand with a flick of the wrist. "Besides, this is just another technique I learned at the garden; sympathy injuries." Rinoa caught him as he stumbled. "If you… make yourself look pitiful enough… the nurses…" Squall trailed off as his mind lost its focus. 

Leaving Squall hanging onto the doorframe, Rinoa replaced their purloined equipment and cast about the room for anything they might have left that would give their nocturnal activities away. _Please, please, don't let me be forgetting something!_ Rinoa knew she should check more thoroughly—especially now that things had gone somewhat awry, but she was worried about Squall. He had obviously suffered some sort of trauma while outside, and whatever drugs he had used to keep himself going were beginning to wear off. _So much blood and bandages… He needs more than first-aid… but what can **I **do?_ As she, once again, ducked under Squall's arm and lead him away from the spying chamber, Rinoa caught a glimpse of Squall's wrist chronometer. _I can run!_ "We're out of time! Less than a minute before shift change!" Rinoa placed an arm around Squall's waist, urging him to teeter forward just a little faster. "I've got to wake up the agent! We've got to get back to my room!"

"Uh-huh…" Squall mumbled in a far-away voice.

"Wecheck! Hey, Wecheck!" Darius shook the sleeping form of his colleague and friend. He was getting worried, there was something unnatural about the agent's deep slumber. "Wake up man!"

Like a light switch turning on, Anthony Wecheck suddenly snapped awake. "Yah! What? Huh?" He jumped to his feet, hand dropping to the holster of his sidearm. Realizing where he was, and who he was with, he sheepishly dropped his arm to his side. "Oh man! Was I asleep?"

Relieved, Darius smiled. "Yeah man, you were really out of it! I couldn't wake you up for nothing!"

"Aw man! Damn if I'm not lucky it was you, instead of Hub." Agent Wecheck blew out an explosive breath.

"Yeah, he already hates your guts…" Darius's gaze drifted to the light-covered schematic. "So, anything happ—hey!" He pointed. "What's that guy doing in hallway one-B?"

Anthony shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe takin' a nap?"

"If that's Rance, He ought to be in navigation." Darius touched a spot on the pad set into the table. "Better check in with him."

As he stood, gently fingering the angry bump on his head, Agent Pecano's earpiece crackled. "Yo, Rance. What's going on up there? Why aren't you at your post?" His heart skipped a beat. _Oh no! Were they watching me? How much did they see? _"Uh… nothing… just, um..." Rance's mind blanked as he stumbled for an explanation. _Damn this messed-up brain of mine! So many years in this service… passed over for promotion so many times because of the effects of that damn nerve gas..._

"Rance? You ok? You need to report an incident?" Came the voice. Rance concentrated. Baler… no, Bailey, agent Darius Bailey was that kid's name—if he recognized the voice. 

Two months away from a retirement with a decent pension plan, one more mental health black mark away from an unceremonious discharge, Rance Pecano was not about to report incidents of any sort. "Nope." His mind finally focused on an excuse. "Just checking some lighting. A panel in this hallway was flickering."

"Well get off it, you old geeze. Leave that crap to the maintenance crew." Agent Bailey cut the transmission. He turned to Anthony. "I swear, that guy is totally senile." He chuckled. "It's a race to see whether they retire the old fart first, or toss him in the nuthouse."

Agent Wecheck smiled uncomfortably. He thought Rance was a pretty good guy—for an old geezer. Too bad about that condition he had picked up on a mission. He shuddered slightly. _Hope that kind of shit never happens to me…_

"Damn, man!" Agent Bailey was pointing to the table again. "You slept through a lot. Look at those two. They're camped out together in… what is that? The main bath of her suite?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is that where they were before you…"

"No." Agent Wecheck shook his head. They were sleeping on the observation deck last time I… uh… checked."

"Sheesh, why can't they just sleep in beds, like normal people?" Agent Bailey sighed. "Well, we'd better see what's going on." He reached over and pressed the touch pad again. The sounds that issued from the small speakers set into the table made both special agents relax and grin at each other.

Rinoa had the water in the giant ornate bath running full blast in the hope that it would cover the sound of the medical magic she was casting. Over the gurgling of the water, she spoke loudly. "What? Take a bath with you? Ooh, Squall… you have a dirty mind!"

Lying half-conscious, in the bottom of the ceramic monster that had no place aboard an airship, Squall opened his eyes dazedly. "Huh?"

Rinoa leaned in close to him. Pointing to the ceiling, she whispered: "Bugs."

His eyes clearing for a moment, Squall nodded and leaned back.

Rinoa worked quickly and efficiently. With the supplies available in the pair of first-aid kits she had opened on the tub's rim, she set about cleaning Squall's wounds, moving from the right side of his body to the left. She found that what he had said earlier to be mostly true. As Rinoa cut open the neckline of Squall's jumpsuit, looking for the source of the blood that saturated his clothing, she found his chest and shoulders unmarked. She winced and cast a Regen spell on the huge purple blotch that was already turning green around Squall's left shoulder, but it wasn't until she reached his left hand that Rinoa found anything she wasn't prepared to deal with. From the look of the mess underneath the rude bandages, Rinoa was surprised that Squall's four fingers were still attached to the rest of his body. She was almost afraid to try to clean the injury, but she knew there were no alternatives. First, however, she pulled the cap off a small, one-dose hypodermic of morphine. As she reached down below Squall's waist with the needle, his right hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist.

His pain-tinged gaze met her own. "No." Squall whispered. "No painkillers… I might start to babble." 

After a second, Rinoa nodded and put the needle away.

"Besides," Squall mumbled quietly. "That's for vaccines, Morphine doesn't go in the gluteus maximus."

"I know…" Rinoa whispered back. "I just really hate veins."

"Yeah sure…" Squall took a breath and attempted a smile. "Crazy voodoo sorceress just wants to stick needles in my butt." 

"Now you be a good little patient." Rinoa patted Squall's head and smiled sadly. "You can bite down on this." She placed a rolled and dampened washcloth between Squall's teeth as she filled a bowl that had previously held assorted shampoo bottles with hydrogen peroxide. "Ahh…" Rinoa sighed loudly and passionately, partially for the benefit of any outside listeners, partially to distract Squall's attention. 

It worked. Opening his eyes again, he looked at her—brow furrowing. Rinoa quickly pushed his hand into the bowl of hydrogen peroxide. Squall bit down hard on the washcloth—muscles tensing, right fist balling—as he grunted loudly.

Agent Wecheck pushed a spot on the touchpad that turned the speakers off. "Okay… I think that's enough."

"Aw… and just when it was getting good." Agent Bailey pouted. 

"Whatever." Agent Wecheck waved a hand as he stepped out the door. 

"Goodnight." Agent Bailey sank into Wecheck's vacated chair. "Wish we had video feeds in there." 

"I'm afraid." 

"You can do it, Rinoa. I know you can." Squall whispered. 

"But I might hurt you." Even as she said it, Rinoa slowly lifted the remains of Squall's left hand. She made sure to keep her eyes averted from the gouge where—clear of the clotted blood, gauze, and pieces of glove—the cable had ground most of the way through Squall's carpal bones. 

"I've already done enough of that for the both of us." _We were so lucky before. _"Now you have to clean up my mess." _Sure, we got hurt… but nothing like this… _Squall's stomach churned as the realization hit him. _God, I'm going to lose that hand!_

But, perhaps not. There, knees on the tub's floor between Squall's legs, oblivious to the water that was filling her boots from the running faucet, ignoring the blood that stained her clothes, **his** angel knelt, her only concern—his well-being. _If I ever questioned leaving the garden for her… did I ever imagine anyone could care this much about me?_ Squall felt a twinge not associated with his damaged appendage. Once he had. _But I'll never let anyone take her away._

"Okay, but let's not make a habit out of this." Rinoa placed her other hand over Squall's. _Heal! _

Nothing happened. Rinoa bit her lower lip. Looking up into Squall's pain-filled eyes, Rinoa drew in a short breath. _He did this for **me**. Did I ever think that anyone would risk so much, just to be with me? Did I ever believe anyone would sacrifice themselves—not because they believed in my cause, not because they were ordered to…_ Yes she had. A lifetime ago she had believed in someone. _But he'll never turn on me…_

Ever so slowly, a tiny, flickering fringe of blue-white fire crept around their clasped hands. As the pale corona of cool flame encircled her hands, Rinoa could feel the magic begin to flow down her arms from somewhere inside of her. At first, it was just a trickle, gently tugging at the splinters of rusty wire strands and Kevlar embedded in Squall's hand. _Gently, gently _Rinoa concentrated. Gradually, the trickle increased to a stream, permeating the flesh where infection was already taking hold, and drawing it to the surface. Suddenly, without warning, a torrent of power washed down into Squall's hand, tearing the bits of foreign matter from the wound with reckless force. 

Rinoa gasped and released her hold on Squall's hand. She looked down in horror at the lifeless body of her knight, the last dregs of his blood seeping from the damage she had caused. The vision passed in a flash of terror. Squall blinked at her as he began to speak, but Rinoa, already pulling away, cut him off. "Oh God, Squall. I'm making it worse! I can't do this! We've got to call for help!" Even as she tried to stand, Squall's right hand grasped weakly at her left arm.

"We can't give ourselves away, Rinoa!" He tugged feebly. "Try again."

Rinoa shook her head as two of her tears dropped and mingled with the water and blood in the basin. "I don't want to kill you, Squall."

Slowly, he managed to draw her back. "I don't want to be an amputee." His eyes were pleading. "Again"

Before she knew what was happening, Rinoa felt herself throw her arms around Squall. There was a blinding flash of light…

Diamonds made from pure sunlight sparkled on the surface of the azure water racing between the three hulls of the tiny sailboat. A blunt-nosed shadow glided into view just below the surface of the sea, like a fat gray torpedo. Water frothed around the sleek sides of the dolphin as it surfaced just beneath the leading edge of the watercraft's trampoline decking. Rainbows shimmered in the exhalation of the grinning finned mammal, and it winked at her as Rinoa reached down to pat its cool wet skin.

Gripping the mast of the sailboat as it's speed caused it to roll up onto one hull, Rinoa looked back at a smiling Squall—one hand holding the sail line tight, the other pulling the tiller further into the wind. His worries blown away by the play of the dolphins, the warmth of the sun, the exhilaration of speed—for the first time in a very long time—Squall threw his head back and laughed.

The wind whipped Rinoa's happy sigh away as she turned back to gaze out at the flat cobalt-against-navy horizon. The sun flashed brilliantly off of the waves again…

…And Rinoa was standing on the hard tile of the master bath in one of the Zeppelin's luxury suites. She stumbled, unbalanced by the shift from leaning at forty-five degrees to standing upright. Squall sat where he had landed—right hand still holding an imaginary tiller, left hand wrapped around an imaginary rope. As the happy grin he had worn in the memory slowly faded into a confused expression, Squall turned his head to look from his now-unbruised left shoulder down to his, once again, whole left hand.

Still clad in a pair of knee-length swimming trunks, Squall took in the absence of wounds, blood, medical supplies, and the clean, empty bath. "….?"

…

The tiny rivulet was more scum than water. Wending its way between the worn cobblestones at the side of the street in one of the lower-class sectors of Deling city, the dirty stream meandered around small piles of refuse. Sailed only by soggy cigarette butts, the water gathered in a stagnant pool over a hole partially filled with shattered mossy mortar chips before disappearing down the rust-and-filth encrusted grating set into a crumbling stone curb. Soiled, though it was, the small cesspool still reflected the smoky glow emanating from behind the grime-coated window of the tavern. 

Gazing into the establishment through narrowed eyes, Seifer could barely distinguish the blurry forms of comrades drinking together—celebrating the end of another long day's work.

But of course they weren't friends. The people at that bar didn't know each other, didn't want to know each other. Seifer knew it was self-delusion to imagine otherwise. _Just as I fooled myself into thinking that my own companions could ever understand the true nature of…_ But that was unfair. Seifer knew he had never given them the chance, never explained why he had to do the things he did. _How can you? How can you explain something like that to them? _He shook his head as he moved on past the dirty glow of the tavern's window. _They were lost in the past. I could feel it, even as they did as I bade them. They didn't believe in me any more. They stayed, hoping, praying, that the 'old' Seifer would come back to them._ "And they still hope." Seifer whispered to the burnt out streetlight at the corner. A secret from one useless, lonely sentinel to another. 

He paused, wondering which way to turn. It really did not matter. There was only one direction Seifer would not go—back. He could no more turn away from the path set before him then he could stand to return to the cramped apartment the SeeDs had chosen as a base of operations. 

She had not spoken kindly to him on their first meeting. She had been truthful. And something in her eyes had told him to run, to flee and change the course of destiny. He had never asked her why she had greeted him so in that city so far from this place. He had been afraid. He liked to think that it was the only thing that had ever frightened him—that look of pain in her eyes when he had asked about their future, her past. _She knew, even then, she knew._ Seifer no longer held any doubts. That first strange and wonderful evening when she had—seconds after stepping through the spatial distortion that returned them to her chambers in Deling's presidential mansion—turned and thrown her arms around his neck, collapsing against him. Even as Seifer, confused beyond words, had instinctively wrapped her in a supporting embrace, she sobbed into his chest. "It really is you." She had clung to him, like a soul—lost at sea—clings to the dying hope of rescue. "I thought I would never see you again." 

__

Seifer shook his head. She had never explained those words. 

As he had stood, supporting the shuddering sorceress, Seifer knew. He knew nothing about who she was, where she had come from, what her words meant, but he knew that he was, had been, and forever would be—her knight. His dream was reality. 

Eventually, she had quieted, and slowly, as if not daring to believe in his existence, she had turned her face upward to his. Seifer had felt a tug at the back of his mind, an emotion that had no place being there. "I don't understand… I've seen you before… but I…"

She had held a trembling hand over her face. "No, not this body. Close your eyes. See who I truly am."

Nearly one year in the future, Seifer stumbled. He opened his eyes. He had never seen the young woman who materialized in his mind before, but he had known her all his life. Once, when he had tried to tell his sorceress this, she had smiled sadly at him.

"I've done something terrible, Seifer." 

He shook his head. "No, they're just frightened of you. The SeeDs must have some hidden agenda, and you probably stand in the way." He had struck his most dashing pose. "But don't worry. I won't let them harm you. They may have escaped from the prison, but I'll hunt—" 

The sorceress raised Edea's hand. "No, no. That's not what I meant." She sighed, her eyes downcast. "I've messed everything up. I've brought a terrible evil here, where it doesn't belong, in your time." 

"Stop." He shook his head. "No. Don't listen to what the SeeDs say. They're mercenaries. They'd cut their own mother's throats for a few gil—if they even had mothers." Seifer placed his hand on the sorceress's. "You brought no evil into this world. You saved me from becoming one of them."

"You don't understand…" Seifer's sorceress began.

"Then tell me! Please!" Seifer could not keep the anguish from his voice. "Who are you? I know that I've loved you forever, but I don't even know your name!" 

A single tear had rolled down her cheek and cut into Seifer's heart. 

_Did you really bring evil into the world, my love? _Seifer stopped, laying a hand on the tarnished surface of a tiny plaque in the decaying park into which he had wandered. He looked down, trying to read the inscription in the anemic light shed by a single flickering streetlamp a dozen paces away. It was no use. Time had scoured the words from its surface.

He had never wavered; not through the bombing of the gardens, not through the failed attack on the last remaining SeeD stronghold, not during the Lunar Cry, not even when sacrificing a girl he had once cared for to Adel. Rajin and Fujin had waffled, the myriad Galbadian military officers had cut and run, but he—Seifer Almasy—had always stood by the side of his sorceress.

It had been a hard moment, when his two closest friends deserted him. Seifer shook his head to the darkened street. _But I can't blame them for it. The entire world had turned against her, and she seemed to be fighting against it in some battle I could not share._

A few faded chips of paint fluttered to the dirty concrete as Seifer leaned against the rotten frame of a neglected doorway. _You seemed so different… _

Deep inside the scorched and deadened shell of Seifer's heart, thawed by the slow heat of his final fond memories, a last capillary of pain burst. Instantly, Seifer's breath was choked off and he squeezed his eyes shut. His despicable, accursed weakness assailed him once more. Seifer dealt with it the only way he knew how. 

Had anyone been watching, they would have been amazed at how a gleaming black gunblade suddenly appeared in the lone vagrant's hand—as if by magic. They would have been shocked at the frenzied violence with which the man swung the weapon as Seifer fought against the maddening pain, cleaving gouges through the solid stones of the street bed and chopping chunks of masonry from the graffiti-covered facades of the abandoned buildings lining the lost street.

As always, it was not his skill with the weapon, rather the strength of his hollow despair that finally beat back the painful memories.

Seifer forced his thoughts to continue, grinding the sharp salt-crystal of his memories into the open wound of the heart—some penance, he thought, for his lapse of self-control.

_Yes. You seemed so different… after I failed you in the garden._

She had been gone, but Seifer could still hear her voice in his dreams. What dreams they had once been! His sorceress had shown him an entire lifetime without care, without worry. Before, each night had been an eternity of happy companionship. He felt that—without ever once touching her body—he had become closer to his sorceress than even the most passionately intimate of lovers could ever hope to be. 

Dreams had turned to nightmares. Not the heart-pounding terror of horrors untold, but rather long disturbing nights lying awake pondering the few short words his dream-companion now had for him.

Seifer knew what the Lunatic Pandora was for. He knew what would happen when he brought it to Tear's Point. The devastation it would unleash upon Eshtar was not lost on him, nor were the implications of Adel's revival. His sorceress had begun a battle with the world that he saw no sense in. Her nightly visits no longer brought him comfort. Once, they had strolled together through sweet-smelling pines. Their footsteps hushed by the carpet of soft needles, they had shared a oneness Seifer had never imagined possible. 

Now they met on fields of barren rock, or in a black void. His lover no longer slipped her hand quietly into his own, rather she always stood at a distance—no matter how he tried to move closer to her, she was always out of reach. She kept one side of her face hidden from him and spoke only in the harshest of whispers. It was as if a second soul were fighting for possession of his sorceress.

_But under the veneer of whatever it was that made you distance yourself from me, I felt your heart. I always knew it was you—I could dream of no other._

He had tried to ask his sorceress what troubled her, but she would cut his concern off with a commanding jerk of her head and vanish, leaving Seifer awake to roam the decks of the salvage fleet; awake and alone under the moon that had witnessed so many shared lovers' secrets. Seifer had felt the weight of the moonlight on his shoulders—the brush of the thousands of innocent souls that would die if he fulfilled his sorceress's wishes. 

_That was not what tore at me though _Seifer let out a long, painful breath. _My love… why did you feel you had to hide your secret from me—**me**? Did you think I would ever turn away from you? _Seifer shook his head to himself. _Never! Never, not even if you wanted to destroy us all in the time compression, would I do anything but stand beside you. -- Oh, I pretended you would save me even as you destroyed the world, but the truth was: I didn't care. No matter how terrible, your will was always my command._

But she had hid her plans from him, and her mistrust cut him to the quick. _Why? Why, after all our dreams together, could you not see that I would destroy everything everywhere if that was your wish? Why did you not understand that I would throw my life—and the lives of all the world into the apocalyptic fire at the wave of your hand?_

She had not trusted him, but he was still her devoted knight. Nothing, not even her betrayal of his soul could ever change that. 

_No, nothing… _"…not even death will change that, my love." Seifer whispered into the darkness.

"You say sumpin' to me, Punk?" Said a shadow that separated itself from the dark masses of back-alley detritus.

Seifer almost—almost mumbled an apology, so automatically did he slip back into character. But then he noticed the stirring shadows to his left, right, and even—as his periphery vision told him—flank.

There were seven of them—more than a match for this young fool—who had obviously drank too much and gotten lost down the wrong city street. They were armed with an assortment of nasty-looking, but not particularly lethal, weaponry. Short knives, chains, steel pipes. No firearms—and from the uncoordinated way the pack of robbers tried to cluster in on him—Seifer noted, no formal weapons training.

Smiling a hidden, vicious smile, Seifer slurred his voice a bit more, cultivating the impression of an easy, inebriated target. "Crave pardon… couldja please… gimme a directions… ta Vanton Heights?"

"Huh. Uptowner wants us to give 'em something!" The nearest bandit sneered.

"Sounds like 'ee's getting uppity on ya, Warp." 

"Maybe 'is 'onour would like it if we called 'im a cab." 

"More like he wants a limousine." From their jeers, Seifer identified the positions of the remaining members of the small group.

"Hey now… gentlemen… I wasn't looking for any trouble…" Seifer spread his hands, and began backing away from the one called Warp. 

"Well mister dandy…" Warp flicked his wrist and a long switchblade appeared in his hand. "…you found it." He said. They would be the last words he ever spoke.

Seifer killed every last one of the band of would-be muggers. Some had tried to fight, some had tried to run. All had died. Hyperion had traced a screaming arc through the air when Seifer had thrown the weapon—neatly pinning the last fleeing bandit to a crumbling alley wall. He frowned. It had been an end that the scum—who's jerking corpse he now kicked free of the blade—had not deserved. Better that he should have felt at least a few seconds of bone-searing agony—at least a shadow of the pain Seifer carried every day. Seifer almost shrugged as he wiped the gore from the dark weapon. There was no point in being selfish. 

…

From a small slit in the gossamer curtains, the finger of moth moonlight sifted into the room. It traced a ruffled path across the royally plush carpet, tumbled upward in a waterfall of glimmering silver, and fell upon the two silver circlets that lay in the snug hollow at the base of Rinoa's neck. Those rings—presents from a friend long absent from the lives of the sorceress and her knight—lay, not forgotten, merely held in reserve, waiting to seal their own special moment in the lives of their owners.

The moonbeam shivered and fled as a figure interposed himself between the sleeping sorceress and the window. The luminescent arrow disappeared as the glowing nighttime eye hid itself in a cloud bank. 

Only the slightest rustling of the figure's cloak betrayed his movements as a gloved hand appeared, slowly reaching out toward the helpless Rinoa. She shivered in her sleep as a cool leather finger traced out the line of her chin with a feather's touch.

The figure drew closer, and the sorceress's eyes snapped open. She gasped.

"Seifer!" Rinoa's hand knocked away that of the cloaked figure. She shrank from him.

As he threw back the cloak's hood, the dimness of the cloud-enshrouded moon revealed the figure's shock of long brown hair and blue eyes set below a hawk-like brow. "No, Rinoa, it's me, Squall."

"Squall!" Rinoa lowered a defensive arm. "What are you trying to do? Frighten me to death?" 

Squall shook his head. "I'm sorry. I was just watching you. You looked so peaceful…"

Rinoa sighed. "Well, I wasn't—peaceful that is."

"Bad dreams?"

"Yes." She shuddered, but did not elaborate.

Wanting to help, Squall considered what would be the best thing to say. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Rinoa shook her head, and turned away from him. 

_Strike one._ Squall sat on the edge of the bed and tried a comforting gesture. She dodged his gloved hand, and pulled herself back from the folds of the cloak—the cloak he had been given by some aide somewhere with some explanation of its significance that he couldn't seem to recall. 

"Do you think, maybe you could take those off?" Rinoa indicated the long garment and gloves. "It's kind of creepy."

_Strike two._ "Oh, sure, sorry." Squall pulled off the offending fabric as if it were infected with the plague and tossed it into the darkness—out of sight. As he turned back to her, he found that Rinoa had buried her head under a pillow. _And somehow, strike three—you're out, fella._ Squall sighed; he was never going to get the hang of this.

A single brown eye peeped out from under the pillow. "Um… Squall? Could you, uh, pick the cloak up and put it somewhere I could see it?" 

Squall almost, almost frowned in annoyance. He nearly spoke. _What? Do you think that it is… _He paused. _…going to come floating out of the darkness… _At last Squall noticed the paleness in Rinoa's one exposed cheek—a colorless hue that could not be blamed on the moonlight. _…hoodup, reaching for you with its gloved hands…_ Squall slapped a hand to his face. _…just after you've awoken from some horrible nightmare? _He stood, and flipped on the bedchamber's lights. 

Squinting into the brightness, Rinoa removed the pillow from her head. "What are you doing?"

Instead of replying, Squall kicked off his boots, and clambered onto the bed. Rinoa frowned, but let him slide a few down-stuffed pillows out of the way in order to slide in between her and the bed's headboard. Threading his arms under Rinoa's, Squall gently drew her up to a sitting position, her back resting against his chest. Dark brown hair tickled his chin as Rinoa turned her head. "Squall…" she began, then trailed off as his fingers began softly kneading away at the tension in her shoulders. 

Squall slipped his right hand through the cascades of Rinoa's hair as she let her head turn back until it was facing forward. Light as butterfly footsteps, his fingers traced slow patterns on Rinoa's scalp, sending pleasant shivers down her back. As his left hand expertly smoothed the kinked muscles between Rinoa's left shoulder blade and her side, Squall spoke quietly. "I'm sorry for waking you. I wasn't thinking." 

Or perhaps, it would have been better to say that he had been thinking too much.Eyes half-closed, Rinoa mumbled something and snuggled against him. Squall smiled; apparently his apology had been accepted. He watched as Rinoa's head slowly nodded back as—deftly as his own hands now worked at loosening the muscles of her lower back—fingers of sleep coaxed her consciousness slowly back into slumber. 

She needed the rest, Squall reflected. He had no real business interrupting these few precious hours they could manage to spare for sleep. Between the crash-course lessons in being a figurehead and the ever-approaching, now-present, day of Rinoa's coronation as Sorceress of the Realm and his own as Knight, the myriad government functionaries had barely left them a few moments to be alone together, let alone catch up on their rest. Apparently, they had been expected to do that on the pseudo-tour of Galbadia.

Squall grimaced inwardly. Of course, they hadn't been catching forty winks. Instead, he had nearly lost his life, clambering about on the underside of a giant zeppelin in the middle of the night. And for what? After all the hardship and danger of getting into the files of the government agents assigned to shadow them, he had found not a single clue as to what was occurring within the Galbadian government. He had only confirmed what they had already known—the "tour" was merely an excuse to get them out of Deling for a few days. The crew of the airship had been specifically instructed to avoid at all cost, any Galbadian military installations, local seats of government, communications hubs, major metropolitan centers—in short, anywhere the sorceress and knight could obtain further information about the country they were now supposed to help serve. 

Squall would have shrugged, had there not existed the possibility of waking his sorceress—now sleeping peacefully, her head resting against his right deltoid. At least he had managed to memorize the location of the Lunatic Pandora and Galbadia Garden. Both were being kept as far from the public eye as possible; anchored in the wastelands near the desert prison. The only apparent reason for there to be mention of the two important structures was to allow the airship to give them as wide a berth as possible while taking the sorceress and knight on their useless tour.

Though it might not have been as productive as he would have liked, the past week had given the couple the opportunity to snatch a few priceless hours of solitude, away from the prying eyes and ears of their escort. During this time, they had managed to work out a semblance of a plan for dealing with their current situation. Squall frowned. Unfortunately, their plan called for the collection of as much data as possible, before taking any action. In order to do so, they would have to continue with their preparations for assuming their assigned roles in the Galbadian government and act blissfully unaware that anything might be amiss. This cut against the grain laid into Squall by years of strategic tactics training. Allow your enemy to take the initiative away from you, and you endanger yourself by taking only reactionary steps—you allow your enemy to lead you wherever he pleases, because provoking a reaction is much easier than predicting spontaneous action. Squall blew out the gentlest of breaths. So far, he had been a good little reactionary, yet managed to collect no useful data. _We're being kept in limbo. Something is brewing. If we don't find out what it is soon…_

Of course, Squall had already been running the reactionary treadmill tonight. He had tried to stand firm against allowing Rinoa's participation in the traditional parade that took place during the coronation of a new sorceress, but to no avail. In the entire recorded history of Galbadia, a ruling sorceress had never come to assume her position of power without attending the grandiose procession through the seat of Galbadia's government. He had protested, pointing out the recent assassination attempt at the last of such parades, but had failed to change the minds of those in charge of the coronation ceremonies. Instead, he managed only to acquire from them promises of heavily beefed-up security, and a switch from a nighttime parade, to one held during daylight. Eventually, his entreaties to forgo the tradition must have neared the line of betraying their knowledge of things amiss, for Rinoa had turned to him, patted his hand, and in a voice of forced levity, assured him that everything would be fine. Squall knew she would not have done so for any other reason. 

Still, he had stayed up late into the night, creating a new parade route and setting up security checkpoints with Delphi Matchgar—head of the Galbadian secret service. Hoping somehow to throw off any assassin's plans. He knew it was hopeless, however, as even the Secret Service man could be in league with those now controlling General Richard Caraway, and the government which he lead. Squall suppressed a shudder. The head of the Galbadian SS certainly seemed to be the type of person who could be a viper in sheep's clothing. Despite his outwardly pleasant comportment, he had the eyes of a man who had ordered enough lives ended that he no longer held any reservation in killing a person—or an entire city of people. But change the parade route he had—and without complaint. Squall did not know to assume good or ill of this.

So he had, instead—taking the glowing blue blade that had rested in its case for far too long—climbed to the very highest rooflines of the sprawling presidential mansion. Poised on the knife-edged apex of the mansion's upper stories, the city's diesel-and-murder tainted night wind tugging at his back, Squall Leonhart had prepared for tomorrow's uncertainties the only way he had left. Even there, alone on the jagged rooflines, sparring without an enemy in sight, the power of the sorceress had infused him. He had dashed along precipices too narrow for sparrows' perch, whirling his gunblade before him in blazing blue-white arcs. He thrust, parried, riposte with speed faster than the lightest fencing foil in the hands of the master swordsman, all while letting the agility and power that flowed through his body carry him in great leaps from turret, to pinnacle, to chimney that would have left the most acrobatic squirrel agape with awe. 

There, underneath the gibbous traitor moon, he had managed—if just for a moment—to recapture the feelings of invulnerability of his days at the Garden. When he had been just another bright-burning SeeD, he had been untouchable. Sure, he had received his share of minor injuries—including the scar that no plastic surgeon would ever erase—but even through such close calls, Squall had known that he could rely on his own strength, speed, and stamina to make sure things turned out right. He had only himself to look out for, and he was very, very good at that.

Leaping from the parapet above the rooftop walkway Edea had used while possessed by Ultemecia, Squall swung the Lionheart over his head and down, pulling back from the follow-through milliseconds before the gunblade would have cloven into the hard tile. Rising from the one knee he had fallen to under the impact of his landing, he brought the weapon up to rest on his shoulder and turned away from the sweeping view of Deling's central park and victory gateway. Holstering his weapon, Squall returned to the history-laden confines of the presidential mansion, intent on stretching and showering.

Even then, some sleepless attendant had—while he scrubbed away the sweat and shingle-grit he had accumulated during his sword-practice—bustled off with his discarded clothing, leaving, in their stead, the same ceremonial dress and cloak that he had been introduced to earlier in his re-education.

Squall had trained himself not to become annoyed with such facets of Galbadian political life managing to wend their way into his own personal routine. It would—undoubtedly—prove to be nothing compared to the way in which Galbadia would take over their lives in the future. Fortunately, both Squall and Rinoa had some prior knowledge as to the system of government to which the new General Caraway was attempting to return Galbadia, Squall through his SeeD training, and Rinoa through her various manners of schooling during her upbringing.

Of course—Squall grimaced at the thought—this was all assuming that they had been brought to Galbadia to serve as sorceress and knight, and that the entire situation was not just some elaborate set-up. 

Even as these thoughts coursed across Squall's consciousness, his fingers slowly fell from the long strands of Rinoa's dark hair, which they had been caressing. His head nodded back, gently coming to rest against the headboard of the bed. Slowly, slowly, these worries seemed to recede into some distant place—as if he were merely watching them played out on a television screen—a screen that abruptly winked out as Squall joined his sorceress in her dreams.

The bright sunlight plying its way under Rinoa's eyelids only served to increase her sense of contentment and security. She knew that the place where she and Squall had rested—that place of flowers and sunlight, cool grass and warm leather, gentle breezes and laughing butterflies, had been a dream. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that the escape from their worries was only temporary, that their time alone fleeting, but as she smiled at the risen sun, she still felt as light-hearted as they both had been during the dream. 

Her blissfulness lasted a full seven-and-one-half seconds before she sat bolt-upright in bed, causing Squall to start slightly. Even as she turned to face him, she felt—along with the crushing weight of everything that was happening—a twinge of regret as she watched that calm, far-away look recede into the farthest corner of her knight's eyes. Once again hard, sharp, and alert they regarded her.

"Are you ready?" Of course, he knew the answer.

"No." 

…

The four disguised SeeDs defended their tiny knoll from the thronging crowd around them with the same vigor they had put into the repulse of the Galbadian attack on their adopted home nearly a year ago. Despite the masses of humanity all fighting one another for a good view of the sorceress's parade, despite the hot sun compressing the people against the warmth radiating up from the dusty ground, despite the still-painful memories of the police riot that had followed an attempted assassination at the last such event, a carnival atmosphere still prevailed among the thousands of Galbadian citizens who had gathered to witness the coronation of their new sorceress. 

As the parade began, the crowd settled down, and the four SeeDs found that they had a good view of the procession from the small hill. The sight they beheld was markedly different from the last such parade they had witnessed. Gone were the masks and belled dancers, gone were the braziers burning with sinister orange flames, and—by order of the sorceress's bodyguard—gone were the celebratory fireworks that had found their way into the crowd at the last nighttime procession.

Instead, the parade was a much lighter affair. The procession began with white-clad attendants marshaling along a giant, helium-filled chocobo which 'wark-warked' loudly at random intervals, drawing delighted screams from the children present. Behind this less-than-serious introduction, the joint marching bands of the Galbadian armed forces strutted in time to a suitably patriotic tune blaring forth from the array of brass instruments bobbing below tall, plumed, gold-buttoned hats. Stately open-top limousines carted various governmental heads—elected in the recent regional pollings re-instituted by President Caraway. Buried within the parade—more similar to a founders-day celebration than to any inaugural event in historical memory—the massive mobile pedestal from which sorceress Edea had surveyed her subjects carried the new sorceress of Galbadia—Rinoa Heartilly.

Keeping with the light-hearted nature of the parade, the large vehicle was now covered in frosty pink roses, the luminescent tentacles that had infused the float a year ago were now buried beneath mounds of sweet-smelling petals. The upper deck of the float had been removed—throne and all—to make space for a dozen bright-faced Galbadian youth who were busily throwing armfuls of rose petals into the warm sunlight. 

Quistis noted that the clouds of petals seemed to be thrown with the intention of floating down around the sorceress and her knight—who were positioned, tucked away almost, on a lower section near the rear of the vehicle. Her lips pressed into a thin white smile. Squall—recalling certain past events—no doubt had a hand in designing the unobtrusive location for the Sorceress's pedestal. In fact, she noted, the clouds of petals filling the air would make it quite difficult for a sniper to draw aim on either Rinoa or Squall. 

Still, the thought was troubling enough that Quistis let her gaze slip for a second over the heads of her own squad—intently gazing at the sorceress's float—and down to where Dahyte, inconspicuous in her drab garments and neutral expression, watched the parade with a disinterested look. _That I even suspect the headmaster would…_ In spite of the dry heat of the day, Quistis shivered and turned her attention back to the sorceress.

[][1][][1][][1][][1][][1][][1][][1]Even from her innocuous position at the rear of the lowered float, Rinoa still made a commanding figure. Alternately brushing rose petals from her hair and waving—almost timidly—at the masses, she was garbed in her own personal variant of a Galbadian sorceress's traditional array—colored and shaped according to the nature of the sorceress. Her long, moderately-cut, silver dress, shot through with veins of electric blue gave way around her shoulders to the elaborate latticework of spidery silver-and-glass formed in the shape of two folded wings. The sparkling criss-crossing feathers of the wings were intricately carved precious stones, sliced as thinly as frost on a windowpane. Dancing patterns of white Holy magic rippled across them, giving the impression that the stone feathers were ruffled by an unseen wind. 

Quistis's breath caught in her throat. Certainly, the array of precious metals and magical stones Edea had worn to help her channel her sorceress powers had been impressive, but nothing like the delicate beauty of the creation the Galbadian master stoneworkers had created for Rinoa. 

Beside the sorceress, Squall seemed merely another member of the parade. His own white cloak unadorned with any symbol of Galbadia—his induction would come later—he was simply one more invisible bodyguard.Still, Quistis's practiced eye caught the way his hood was thrown back—giving him an unobstructed view of the crowd. She saw how closely he kept to the side of his sorceress. … She noticed, also, the look she had come to recognize as conveying that Squall would rather be anywhere else at the moment. _I've certainly seen that enough. Of course, this time it's not because of the company he's in._ Quistis wasn't about to let personal matters cloud her judgment. Undoubtedly, Squall simply was concerned about Rinoa's security.

As the procession passed by their vantage point, Quistis became aware of a low, throbbing hum. Instantly, her attention was turned fully upon this unexpected sound. Before the first heads in the assembled crowd even began to turn skyward, Quistis—along with Zell, Irvine, Selphie, and presumably Dahyte—had already identified the type, heading, and altitude of the approaching aircraft.

The five heavy-lift transport planes held a tight echelon formation as they passed over the heads of the crowd, several thousand feet below. Shouts of surprise vied with the roar of the aircraft's multiple engines as long streamers of a smoke-like nature poured from the open rear cargo doors of the aircraft.

"Ready masks." Quistis tried to whisper loudly enough so as to be heard by her SeeDs alone even as she dug into the concealed pouch that contained her own mouthpiece, nose plug andtwenty-minute air supply. She looked down to where Dahyte stood, seemingly unperturbed by this latest turn of events. _What the hell is going on?_ Her pulse now racing, Quistis shot a quick glance toward the sorceress's float. Squall's face had turned ashen and his hand had unconsciously pushed back the folds of his cloak and now rested on the exposed handle of his gunblade. As Quistis looked on, Rinoa placed a restraining hand on Squall's arm and said something to him.

"Hey! It's flower petals!" Someone shouted. Surely enough, as the glare of the hot sun was broken into dappled patches by the spreading cloud, Quistis could make out the fluttering pinks, reds, yellows, and whites of millions of petals descending from the sky. The crowd broke into enthusiastic—if somewhat relieved—cheering as realization dawned. 

Quistis discreetly closed the pocket, which hid he gas mask as the lowest fringes of the cloud of flowers began landing lightly among the crowd.

Zell, happy for the shade afforded by the drifting petals, tilted his head up to the coolness and promptly inhaled a white rose petal. 

As Zell sputtered over the unwanted foliage, Irvine took the opportunity—as many other young couples had chosen—to wrap Selphie up in a long-limbed embrace, garnished with a less-than-platonic kiss, forgetting his disguise. Nearby families hastened to direct their children's attention elsewhere.

When, at last, the rain of flowers had ended, Quistis noted that the sorceress's float had stopped at a point that allowed Rinoa to face directly, a large portion of the gathered crowd. Looking like he were chewing on tinfoil, Squall had taken a step backward, to allow Rinoa to move forward, making her visible to the maximum number of people. Though they had maintained a low profile throughout the parade, the large number of—armed and unarmed—security personnel was distinctly noticeable as they slowly shuffled into a defensive perimeter, as per Squall's designs.

Raising her arms, the sorceress addressed the assembled crowd.

Nearly a quarter-mile away, an ancient, hunched figure tottered into the shade of Deling's Victory Gateway. With a sigh like wind through crackling parchment, the old woman bent painfully, as if to massage the aching bunions on the soles her feet. Instead, she withdrew—from a small pouch hidden in the folds of fabric that fell over her shoulders as she bent—a ruby-red stone. From within the depths of the stone, a misty swirl of bloody flame flickered. The old woman breathed on the gem, and the light burned brighter. 

As Rinoa opened her mouth to speak, a brilliantly red ruby nestled in the small of her back—at the base of her ornate wings—flickered slightly. She paused, and then spoke. "My friends, my neighbors."

"Citizens of Galbadia." The old crone hissed. She gestured with her left hand, even as her right held the stone in a claw-like grip. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. 

Rinoa's brow furrowed, but she continued. "There has been so much fighting, so much bloodshed. All in the name of sorceresses who came before me."

"Galbadia has suffered grievously at the hands of the aggressors in this world." The woman rubbed the red stone furiously.

The expressions of the crowd darkened. 

"But no more. For I come to you with a promise." Behind his sorceress, Squall smiled.

The old woman drew in a rattling breath.

"A promise, not of conquest, not of a Galbadia that sends your sons and daughters to fight and die at home and abroad, but of a Galbadia at peace." Rinoa paused again.

"A promise that never again shall Galbadia bow to the heel of any oppressor. A promise of a strong Galbadia, a Galbadia that shall take what is rightfully ours—what was robbed from us by the sham of a peace treaty rigged by the technophiles of Esthar, the traitors of Timber…" The crone's claw tightened on her stone. "…and the terrorists of the Gardens!" She hissed.

Even as the crowd erupted again into wild cheering, Quistis felt a sickening sense of dread envelope her. She looked around at the SeeDs of her squad. The stricken expression on Zell's face was heartbreaking, Irvine simply stared, open-mouthed, across the heads of the assembly toward the sorceress, and Selphie looked nearly ready to cry. Even Dahyte's features were crossed by a small frown.

Quistis felt the tug of the sorceress's power in her own mind as the crowd was magically goaded into shouting at a new proclamation of Galbadia's strength.

"Like the rose petals that have now fallen at your feet…" Rinoa's voice could be heard above the din. "…so shall all the enemies of Galbadia likewise fall before our righteous armies!"

Quistis closed her eyes. _I can't believe this is happening! _She wished that she could plug her ears as well. "Oh Rinoa… what's happened to you?"

…

It was that particular time of morning, just before the dim hint of dawn on the horizon brightens into twilight. The time when the early ocean mist still obscures the darkened waters, while the sky slowly fades from black to gray. The time when tiny wavelets from the calm waters gurgled quietly to themselves as they broke on the exposed surfaces of the long spars of Balamb Garden's upper propulsion rods—now sessile as the garden lay at anchor. 

It was also the time of day when Poul McCammon truly loathed his dawn watch. Despite the fact that he had risen at midnight to relieve the forward starboard watchman on one of the catwalks ringing the lower decks of the garden, he was having a hard time keeping his mind sharp and alert as he patrolled his sector of the garden. Of course, this time of night, body temperatures were at their lowest, sleepers slept the soundest, _and tired sentries wish they were those sound sleepers._ He sighed and scratched underneath the headband of his light-enhancing night-vision goggles, currently turned off to save their battery. 

Poul was just about to turn back from the end of the catwalk when a dull clank from below reached his ears. Instantly alert, he pulled the goggles over his eyes and switched them on. Had he been a bit more experienced; had it not been such an early hour; had he, the afternoon before, forgone that last chapter of the novel that now lay next to his bed—in the dormitories far on the other side of the Garden—in favor of some extra sleep; Cadet McCammon might have remembered not to look at the brightening horizon with the goggles turned on. As it happened, however, he failed to remember that particular part of his training, and blinded himself temporarily as he groped for the brightness controls. Between the dazzling afterimages of glaring horizon, Poul thought he saw a brief flash from the dark, misty waters below. He was not distracted by the peculiar noise of metal puncturing behind his head as he peered in the direction of the flash. Poul reached for his radio at the same instant as he saw a second flash from below. In the split-second before the sniper's bullet prevented Poul from ever thinking again, his mind connected the flash, the noise of an armor-piercing round striking the garden's hull, and the sounds wafting up from below his position. He would have said "Oh my God! They're shooting at me." But Cadet Poul McCammon died from the silenced rifle round before the words could form on his lips.

It was a full five minutes before the first of the garden's searchlights were switched on by another alarmed sentry, thirty more seconds passed before the initial alarm went out over the radio, and the security officer on duty wasted a full fifteen more seconds before the sickening thud of a bullet striking a second watchman convinced him to sound the general alarm.

Headmaster Cid Kramer jumped to his feet, ink from the paper on which he had fallen asleep tattooing his cheek. For a moment, the blaring klaxons confused him into ignoring the chirping of his personal radio. He took three uncertain steps backward, nearly tripping over the chair he had upset while waking before the sleep fully cleared from his head, and he snatched at the communications unit. "Kramer!" _What the hell is going on?!_ He added silently, knowing full well that he was about to find out.

"Headmaster! Galbadian soldiers on the lower Starboard decks--" the voice was abruptly cut-off by another, stronger transmission—presumably from a closer radio.

"Sir! Galbadian submarines surfacing off our bow and stern!" 

A third transmitter chimed in as the second finished. "—emy soldiers on the propulsion sys--" the signal abruptly terminated in a squeal of static. 

Even as he shouted up to the bridge, "Who's on duty up there!?" Cid flipped through radio channels—each jammed by the same screeching signal.

"Nida, Sir! Orders?" Came the nervous reply.

"Start the main reactors! We have to get out of here!" The headmaster stepped onto the bridge lift. Looking out through the huge windows that bordered his office, Cid's heart sank as he saw flotillas of rubberized assault boats bearing down on the garden from a dozen black shapes riding low in the water, caught in the Garden's searchlights. As the first black-clad figures gained the lower catwalks ringing the garden's prow, volleys of small-arms fire extinguished the few feeble fingers of light lancing out from the Garden's upper decks. 

"They're already online sir!" Nida shouted as Cid stepped off of the lift's platform. He hauled back on the lever that would engage the Garden's main drive. 

Headmaster and pilot stumbled as a grinding shudder ran through the Garden.

Several stories below, the great fins of the propulsion system lurched forward a few feet, crushing the Galbadian frogmen still tightening the last of the braces they had shepherded into position between the rotating discs. The braces already in position screamed with metallic protest and buckled slightly, but held.

"Again, Nida, Again!" The headmaster shouted as he regained his footing. 

"But, sir, we'll burn up the gears!" Nida pointed to the large 'clutch temperature' gage, whose needle had delved deeply into the red sector of the dial.

"Burn them up, then! We have to get moving!" Reaching the public address system, the headmaster slapped the 'all garden' transmission button. "This is Headmaster Kramer speaking. The garden is under attack by Galbadian forces. Students assigned to Defense teams Alpha through Hector: assemble at the Quad and prepare to repel boarders! Teams India through Lima: defend the main gate. SeeD team X-Ray, prepare to--." The headmaster paused as a horrendous screeching ripped its way to his ears from deep within the Garden's bowels." 

Nida shook his head and pointed to the flashing red lights that appeared all over the large control wand. His attention was quickly diverted, however, by a bright flash from the deck of one of the Galbadian submarines. Seconds later, the naval shell screamed overhead and detonated a few dozen yards off the Garden's stern in a towering fountain of seawater. 

"Check that!" The headmaster corrected himself. "X-ray, maintain open corridors to the wet garage from all levels of the garden." The headmaster spoke of the newly created internal docks for SeeD assault landing craft that had been installed below the garage.

Seeing that he could no longer be of any use as a pilot, Nida reached for the set of headphones connected into the intercom system, and began jabbing the lit buttons that indicated incoming reports. Scribbling furiously on the pad of paper clipped to the board, he handed summaries of the incoming calls to the headmaster, allowing Cid to keep up his monologue of orders.

Nodding his thanks, the headmaster continued. "All ferry pilots, man your craft. Instructors fifteen through twenty, escort underclassmen to the boats!" He grabbed the first sheaf of paper Nida thrust at him. "SeeD team Zulu respond to hull breaches on MD-level decks, sectors three, five, six, eight…" As he read off the list, Cid was vaguely aware that he was ordering the SeeD team to more locations than it had members.

The first scattered students to arrive at the Quad—most still wearing the clothes they had slept in found themselves confronted by a solid wall of heavily armed Galbadian marines. Those who were too inexperienced, too sleepy, or just unable to cast protect spells on themselves were cut down by a hail of bullets as the Galbadians opened fire at close range. Surrounded by arcs of blue light, the few students still able to fight quickly fell back—pulling their fallen comrades up the first flight of stairs and behind the sparse cover afforded by the foliage and new—now overturned—benches of the first landing. 

Almost immediately, a storm of grenades showered the beleaguered students. Only the quick thinking of a fourth-year saved them, as her Aero spell blew the hand-held explosives back in the faces of the attacking force. In the tiny reprieve that existed while the Galbadians closed ranks, and began advancing again, a few inexperienced Guardian Forces appeared above the heads of the marines, managing to do little more than singe, chill, and annoy the heavily armored soldiers.

Cid's order to evacuate the infirmary was completed only seconds before the line of defenders was pushed—by Galbadians pouring in through the main entrance—past the side corridor, nearly all the way back to the cafeteria, before the half-dozen blasts of—until now, carefully hoarded—Ultima magic from the experienced SeeDs struggling to hold the main hall, drove the invaders back, allowing the defenders to re-form a defensive line.

Feet spread widely, Xu braced herself as another precious ball of the gravity-distorting Demi magic blasted from her fingertips and careened down the wide hallway leading to the Main gate. She winced as the beautiful tiled flooring shattered under the stresses of the battle spell, but smiled at the way the ultra-dense magic scattered the line of advancing Galbadians like bowling pins. Though she had never been one to enjoy wholesale slaughter of any kind, Xu bared her teeth at the number of Galbadians that still moved after the spell passed. She snarled viciously and ducked behind a stone planter as the heavy-caliber machine gun at which she had aimed the spell began firing again. Exposing one hand, she reached up and slapped the button on an intercom station just above the top of her makeshift shelter. "Galbadian forces are about to take the main elevator!" She had to scream to be sure she would be heard above the din of combat. 

Two more shells exploded on both sides of the Garden, bracketing the giant structure. Nida scribbled something in very large print on the next sheet of paper he handed Headmaster Kramer. 'YOU GO NOW!!'

Still giving out orders, Cid shook his head emphatically. "All squads on the main floor, fall back to the garage and board the transports. We are evacuating the Garden." He released the 'talk' button for a moment in order to chide Nida who was again scribbling in very large lettering. 

Nida gave him no time, instead, thrusting the headphones at Cid, along with the paper that had 'EDEA' written on it. As the headmaster accepted the headset, Nida stepped up to the public address system. "Send one landing craft around to the emergency second floor exit to pick up the headmaster! Attention, all pilots! Galbadian submarines are at the following location bearings taken from the front of the garden…" Nida proceeded to rattle off a series of two-dimensional coordinates.

Placing the headset over his ears, and adjusting the microphone, the headmaster pressed the direct-link transmit button. "Edea? Where are you? You should be aboard the transports!"

"Cid, I'm with a group of underclassmen. We were cut off from the others by Galbadians. I'm bringing them up to the second floor through the emergency crawlways." Listening to Edea's voice, Cid failed to hear the ripping-fabric sound of the incoming artillery. Suddenly, he felt as if an Iron Giant were sitting on his chest. There was a brilliant white flash of heat and noise. 

Cid was lying on the floor on his face. There was a coppery tang in his mouth, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Like a fish out of water, he was blinded, deaf, and gasping for air. With horrible slowness, he regained the ability to draw air into his lungs. Dazedly, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Vision slowly returned, but only in his right eye—his left remained dark, was it closed? Cid looked around. He was sitting on the floor of his office, below the bridge. How had he gotten here? He looked up. He could see that the first rays of dawn were beginning to tinge the sky pink through the smoking ruin that was all that remained of the Garden's bridge. Still stunned, Cid shook his head. Hadn't there been a SeeD with him? 

Clarity slowly returned to his mind. "Nida!" He wheezed. His was loud in his head—in fact, it was the only sound he could hear. Somehow, someone had stuffed his ears with cotton balls. He placed a hand to one. He felt a warm, sticky wetness running down the side of his face. "Nida…" he began a second attempt to shout, but trailed off. As he turned toward the elevator, he saw a crumpled form, crushed against one of the office's walls by a twisted and blackened iron girder. He tried to stumble over to the fallen SeeD, but had to turn away. Rising to his feet, he had seen what lay underneath the remaining tatters of the SeeD's uniform. _Nida… graduated with the most famous class of the garden. Not a phenomenal talent when stood beside Squall, Selphie, Zell, but still, one of garden's top in-house SeeD operatives. Navigator, first class, he could take this garden through spots too tight for a Creeps… now._ "Damn." The word rang hollowly in Cid's head. _But it's more of an epitaph than some will receive today._ And Headmaster Cid Kramer, at last, with this final blow, hardened his heart. 

Limping over to his desk, he pulled a key from around his neck—snapping the metal links that had held it there for so many years. Inserting the grooved metal into a hidden slot under the surface of his desk, he twisted the key and strained to lift the heavy mahogany planks covering the desk's hollow interior. Papers that had lain undisturbed through the bomb blast above slid to the floor as the desktop was lifted away.

Rusty from years of disuse, Cid still managed to cast the Curaga spell on himself as he reached into the desk's large hidden compartment. His fingers slid carefully over the razor-sharp blade, across the cruelly hooked spike, down the long metal shaft, and closed around the familiar, leather-wrapped grip. Leaning backward, Edea's knight pulled the Bec de Corbyn from its resting place. Holding the raven-beaked weapon brought back a flood of memories Cid had once thought forgotten, but he had time for none of them. Instead, still limping slightly, he made his way to the elevator. His sorceress would be waiting. 

Private Harrison Bearer had not been having a good month. In fact, it had turned out to be one of the worst—and quite possibly last—months of his life. He had thought the garrison post at one of Galbadia's most heavily guarded ports would be one relatively free from danger. After all, both Eshtar and the gardens had been ravaged during the events of the past year, Dollett hadn't posed a threat to Galbadia for nearly an entire century, and North Ricorn was about as patriotic a city as you were likely to find in Galbadia—thus ensuring that there would be no trouble similar to the stirrings of rebellion in the southern provinces. 

Harrison threw himself to the floor, pulling the supposedly magic-repelling shield over his body as the dark blast of Demi came careening down the hallway. The shields really didn't work, he had noticed this when a soldier from another squad had been incinerated—shield and all—by a Firaga spell, but the damn thing still offered some small psychological comfort. _So much for garrison duty. So much for getting paid just to stay in shape._

Once he believed the magical counterattack to be over, Private Bearer risked a look down the corridor toward the inner sanctum of the garden. Most of the lights were no longer functioning, and smoke blocked the early light of dawn from reaching down to illuminate the murky interior of the massive floating structure. Shoving his assault rifle out in front of his body, he squinted into the dimness, searching for motion. He saw none. Perversely, this was a bad sign, as it meant the squad leaders might call for another charge soon. Harrison grimaced. About thirty men had managed squeeze into the interior of the garden in the last charge before their advance was cut off by an echelon of SeeDs attacking from the hallway to their right. The brilliant flashes of green light that had illuminated the interior of the garden had been testament enough as to their fate. Harrison was not looking forward to meeting a similar end. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he detected motion…

Yes! A diminutive SeeD! He could just make out the gold, blue, and red uniform. Though it would only take a moment for him to aim and fire his weapon, Private Bearer decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and threw himself flat against the nearest hallway wall. Even as he cowered beneath his ineffective shield, his mind justified the action. _If it had just been a student… but those SeeDs are bad news!_ His thought was proven correct a second later as the hallway lit up with three successive bursts of the incredibly powerful forbidden magic; Holy. 

Harrison resisted the urge to check if all his body parts were still attached. He had not been in the path of any of the devastating magical attacks. Screams issuing from behind his position told him that other soldiers had not been so fortunate. Once again, risking a glance down the blasted hallway, he saw the same SeeD that had cast the spells dashing madly toward the stairs leading up to—what he assumed to be—the central column of the garden's interior, headed toward a set of elevator doors. Screwing up his courage, he stepped away from the wall. Dropping his shield, he fell to one knee and aimed his weapon at the SeeD's back. He squeezed the trigger.

Private Bearer's first two shots, low and to the right of his target, punched additional ventilation in the bullet-riddled map of the garden's interior that stood before the flight of stairs leading to the elevator. His second set of shots fell wide of the fleeing SeeD's right side. His third volley would have been right on target, had Xu's luck junction not caused the rifle to jam. Harrison swore and worked the action on the gun, ejecting two live shells. 

Ignoring the gunfire, Xu dashed up the pockmarked stairs. The dented doors of the elevator slid open invitingly. Skidding on the glass from the elevator's broken fluorescent light, she mashed the second floor button. As she turned to face the narrowing gap between the closing doors, she spotted a lone Galbadian gunman aim his weapon directly at her. The muzzle of the rifle flashed three times. Xu's Protect spell sparked twice. The third bullet spanged off the lift doors and buried itself in the wall of the elevator car. As the compartment rose, Xu slumped against the far wall with a sigh of relief. 

Careful not to be last, but even more cautious not to be first, Private Harrison Bearer added his own set of hands to those of the other marines attempting to pry open the recalcitrant elevator doors. Slowly, the half-dozen soldiers forced an opening to the elevator shaft. "Alright! Ladder's on the left! Follow me!" An overeager squad leader—probably just stepped off of the attack boat—shouted as he swung himself into the open shaft. 

Private Bearer wasn't the only marine who hesitated to follow the enthusiastic order. A split-second later, the elevator car fell with a grinding screech, putting an end to the squad leader. 

"That won't hold them for long." Xu panted. Seeing the dried blood trailing from the headmaster's ears, she shouted and gestured to make sure she was understood. "You should go! They'll be coming up soon!"

Headmaster Kramer pulled his bec de corbyn away from the severed cable. "I can hear you fine." He waved a blood-covered hand toward the hallway that ringed the second floor. "Help Edea get the rest of the children out, I'll hold them here." 

Xu almost began to argue, then realized they had no time. "Right." She dashed off.

Cid shook his head. He still couldn't believe Edea had managed to shepherd her group of injured underclassmen all the way up through the service crawlways to the second floor. Neither could he believe the horrendous injuries the stray grenade had inflicted upon the youth. There were more reasons than one why Cid hadn't wanted to leave his post at the elevator. 

The headmaster's musings were rudely interrupted by a snub-nosed submachine gun muzzle that poked its way over the edge of the open shaft. As it fired wildly into the air, Cid threw himself to the ground. With surprising agility for a man of his age, he slid forward and kicked the gun from the hand of the soldier below. Rising to his knees, he brought his spear-tipped weapon down on the head of the surprised Galbadian. The sharp end of the bec de corbyn skipped off the side of the man's skull and found its way around his body armor, burying itself between his neck and collarbone. With a cruel twist, Cid caused the raven-beaked blade attached to the weapon's shaft to dig into the man's neck. Even as the marine grunted in pain, the headmaster pulled back on the shaft of the bec de corbyn, using the lip of the elevator shaft as a lever. The force exerted by the headmaster yanked the marine from his tenuous perch on the metal ledge lining the shaft, and he fell, screaming, to his death.

Pushing himself to his feet, Cid prepared for the next attacker. However, instead of a second attempt to scale the elevator, the Galbadians below responded to this new threat by lofting three grenades onto the open-air walkway joining the elevator shaft to the second floor hallway. The headmaster barely managed to throw himself around the corner of the hallway before flying pieces of shrapnel filled space he had just occupied. 

Looking up from where he lay—sprawled against the wall of the second floor hallway—Cid beheld his sorceress. Even in the midst of the chaos, even with the blood of injured children staining the front of her dress, even with patches torn from both knees, and her outfit disheveled from crawling through the dark service shafts of the garden, she was a beautiful and imposing figure. During the initial phase of the assault, Edea had managed to slip into her sorceress garb—complete with magic-channeling backing. The network of precious metals and stones had been knocked slightly askew, but Cid knew the powerful array would still assist his sorceress with her spell casting. In the months since she had voluntarily given her powers to Rinoa, Edea had discovered that some residual powers had returned to her. She could cast magic without junctioning herself to a Guardian Force, and she still had the ability to control certain sorcery that was impossible for ordinary magic users to master. All this passed through Cid's mind as he used his weapon to lever himself to his feet. 

Passing the opening to the crawlspace in which—Cid knew—a few injured underclassmen still lay, Edea ran to him, and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Cid, get the children out. I'll stop the Galbadians." 

Instantly, at the touch of his sorceress, Cid felt his myriad bumps and bruises fade. He shook his head at Edea's words. "No, Edea. I can hold them here. It's too dangerous for you." 

Edea placed her other arm around Cid's shoulder and time seemed to slow down. _Still my brave little knight._ She smiled sadly. _You still think you can win all battles with that little stick and that huge heart._ Edea wished there were time to shed tears enough for all the injustice of the world. _You and your heart were never meant for such trials, my love. _She drew her knight into an embrace to end all time. But no matter how hard you hold on, time, it escapes you. _You've done everything I've asked of you. You've suffered so many of these; your children's deaths. You've ordered your lover killed, and crushed your own soul for me. _Her dirt-streaked face pressed closely into the warmth of Cid's neck, Edea closed her eyes. _So I know you can do this one last thing. For me._ "My love. Take the children out of here." _Take yourself away from here._ Edea paused for just a moment, nose-to-nose with her knight, then she felt his familiar lips, his familiar soul, his familiar kiss one last time. _One last stab at your strained heart. I pray this does not break it... Without you, all will be lost. _"I'll be right behind you." She lied. 

Edea's heart leapt one final time, as Cid graced her with that happy, boyish grin from behind slipping spectacles she had fallen in love with. "I hear, and obey, my love." He turned, and she was gone. 

Private Harrison Bearer flipped the pin from his last grenade, counted to three, and then lofted it up onto the second floor catwalk. Any excuse, he thought, to not be one of those huddled by the open shaft, waiting to make a second attempt on the garden's upper stories. He waited for the sound of the exploding device. It never came.Instead, the clouds of smoke drifting through the interior of the garden began to turn an unpleasant shade of green—reflecting the light blazing from a point on the catwalk—near where he had thrown the hand-held bomb. Suddenly, the world exploded. 

Not the entire world exploded, just the worlds of those Galbadian marines unlucky enough to be standing near the central elevator shaft of the garden. Great arcing bolts of Thunderaga rained down upon the marines pouring through the supposedly secured main entrance, blasting craters out of the crowded walkway and sending broken bodies of soldiers flying in all directions. Like a cylindrical steel dragon, the elevator shaft breathed great gouts of flame that incinerated those waiting to begin the assault on the second floor. The floor cracked underfoot, and impossibly, geysers of hot liquid magma spurted up from the fissures in the quaking ground. 

Under these circumstances, Private Harrison Bearer did what any sane human being would—he threw down his weapon, and ran, screaming, for the nearest exit. He was nearly across the infirmary walkway, when a great blast of Ultima erupted from the floor behind him. He felt the shockwave pick him up, then the world became an insanely blurred collidescope of noise, light, and heat. 

Surprisingly, Private Bearer's personal nightmare spat him out next to a Galbadian radioman. This wouldn't have been quite so surprising, had the radioman not been missing his head—though his helmet was still firmly seated on his shoulders. Instead of recoiling in disgust, however, a strange calm descended on Private Bearer. He gently removed the headset from the headless corpse's helmet, and carefully dialed in the emergency naval frequency. At the clicking of the open channel, his calm broke. "IT'S THE SORCERESS EDEA!!" He screamed. "SHE'S KILLING US ALL!!" Still, despite the panicked state of Private Bearer's mind, his weeks of training had managed to grind into his head a little voice that told him how to transmit useful information. He proceeded to follow his ingrained training, and screamed out his best guess as to the coordinates of the second floor catwalk. 

Three quarters of a mile away, the deck gunner of the GNS submarine, Equus, took notice of the flashing 'immediate' icon next to a set of coordinates that appeared on the screen of the nine-inch gun's tactical computer. As a new round cycled into the breech of the heavy weapon, he dialed the new location over to the targeting system. Squinting out into the light of early dawn, he whistled. These new coordinates were on the garden itself. Up to this point, he had been trying to pin down the illusive hydroplanes that had fled the garden, and were now milling about, attempting to pick off assault boats, while still avoiding the heavy guns of the submarines closer in. "No more big fountains. Time to blow shit up." Maybe the brass had changed their mind about taking the garden in one piece. As the 'ready' light flashed, he jabbed the firing toggle. 

One last kid. One last youth, pale with shock but still trying to be brave like a SeeD should. _Look what you've done to this child, Cid._ No time for self-loathing. _Besides, I can't care anymore… Right. You don't care, just like Squall doesn't care._

The last of the wounded away down the inflated slide, Xu motioned for the Headmaster to jump. "You're next, Sir." 

Cid shook his head. "Go on, Xu, I'll g—" 

A thunderous explosion threw both the Headmaster and SeeD to the ground. Lying on the floor among bits of the mortar and plastic that had showered them, Xu saw the headmaster stagger to his feet. He turned, and was faced a horrible sight. 

The naval shell had completely removed nearly a quarter of the second-level of the garden, as well as blowing out a good-sized section of the higher deck. Half the second floor classrooms were gone, the hallway simply stopped in a jumble of twisted steel and scorched tile. The main column of the garden had snapped off twenty feet above the first floor, and the catwalk had simply ceased to exist. 

Cid stumbled forward. A voice was screaming Edea's name. He realized it was his own. Still stunned from the blast, he didn't understand what had happened. Where was the second floor? Where was his sorceress?

It was only Xu's Stop spell that kept the headmaster from stepping off of the broken edge of the hallway. A shot rang out from below as she grabbed his stiffened form under the arms, and pulled him away from the gaping hole that had been torn in the garden. Though her magic had frozen the confused expression on Cid's face into an immobile mask, she could see the realization dawning in his unblinking eyes. Xu dragged the headmaster's body to the edge of the escape slide. 

Looking back at the devastation caused by the artillery blast instead of at the single tear that had forced its way from Cid's frozen eyes, she shoved him out the hatch. Tearing her gaze away from the awful sight, she watched as two SeeDs manhandled the headmaster through the transport's open doorway. Xu then grabbed Cid's fallen weapon, and prepared to jump, herself. 

_What's going to happen to us?_ She dug the weapon's sharp hooked spike into the slide as she descended. _Without the headmaster, we'll be lost._ She gratefully accepted the assistance of the two SeeDs as they pulled her from the deflating slide. _But without Edea… will we lose him?_

_ _

[Chapter 6][2]

   [1]: a1\Gallery\8.htm
   [2]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/six.htm



	6. Occisor

**Chapter Six:**

** **

**Occisor**

General Richard Caraway awoke with his cheek pressing against the cold concrete floor. As his eyes focused, he took stock of his surroundings. Before him, a bare metal slab jutted from a featureless cement wall. In the corner he was facing, he spotted a small hole, which would ostensibly serve as a non-private toilet. Despite the stark view, the general immediately made several connections in his mind. The cell was of the same nature as those used by the Galbadian Secret Service—he had toured enough of the agency's newly constructed prisons during the last few years of Vinzer Deling's administration to recognize the nature of the room—even if he had never viewed on from the inside before. 

He rolled over with a slight groan. The stiffness of his limbs and the impression the rough floor left on the skin of his cheek told Caraway that he had been laying in place for at least several hours. As he turned, the general recognized that the rows of steel bars that formed the fourth wall of his prison signified that he was at least four levels down in the underground facility. All secret service prisons were the same. They all appeared as squat, unassuming structures from the outside. The ground floor was mainly administrative offices. Below that, the first underground level housed the armory and temporary barracks for on-call officers. Levels B2 through B5 consisted of holding cells for prisoners—the higher levels held prisoners who might someday be released—and therefore contained some furnishings for the comfort of their occupants—along with cinderblock walls and metal doors. The last two levels held those prisoners who would be added to the list—if their families had not already—of missing persons, usually outspoken opponents of the Deling administration, who would never be seen again. Those cells furnished the condemned with very little in the way of creature comforts. 

A guard, sitting in the hallway, took notice of the motions from the cell's occupant. "Well, well. Sleeping beauty's finally awake."

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Caraway blinked groggily. "Where… where am I?" He feigned a dazed confusion that was only partially pretend, hoping to put the agent off-guard. 

The Secret Service man grinned. "In a cell."

"W-what day is it?" Undaunted, the general tried again.

"Today." His guard said in a mocking tone.

Caraway stood, shrugging off the dazed and confused act. "I suppose there's no point in asking you to let me out then." 

"Um…" The guard paused, pretending to consider this. "…Nope." He said. Then he laughed. 

General Richard Caraway—the title was probably more fitting than 'President' right now—he thought. _Doesn't look like I'm in charge of Galbadia any more._ He sat heavily on the metal slab that served as the cell's bed._What the hell happened?_ His mind fuzzed as he tried to call up his last memory before waking up here, in this dismal place. 

He had been writing… in the office of the presidential mansion. He had felt uncomfortable when referring to that place as 'his office'. Though he had offered his services in assisting Galbadia through the transitional period between the fiasco of the Sorceress's government and the return to a democratic system—as Galbadia had been before the rise of Deling's dictatorship during the sorceress war—he had never felt at home as a politician. In his heart, he had known he was a soldier first, last, and foremost.

Caraway shook his head, trying to coax the memory from his recalcitrant brain. What had he been writing? _Oh yes! The recall notice to the forces dispatched to Timber to put down the rebel uprising._ Had that been what had done it? Caraway frowned. No, impossible. Impossible that someone within his own treasured armed forces had turned on himbecause of the withdrawal from Timber. _I can't really think of anyone besides Vinzer who ever thought that territory was worth holding on to after the war…_Besides, the order hadn't even been fully drafted before… _Before whatever the hell it was happened to me. Damn, I wish I knew how long I've been here!_

But someone had ordered him stuffed away in this dark hole. Someone had been unhappy enough with the changes he had instigated in the wake of Edea/Ultemecia's crazed rule that they had dared to imprison the most powerful man in Galbadia—and succeeded!_But who!? Who could have gotten close enough to me to do this?_ If serving during the dark times of Vinzer's final years had taught him one thing, it was to ensure that all those close to him—from advisors to household servants—were absolutely trustworthy. He grimaced. _Otherwise, I would have ended up with a bullet through my skull a lot sooner than this._

A set of footfalls on the hard hallway floor outside his cell brought Caraway out of his musings with a jolt. He tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as his guard stood, yawned and stretched at the arrival of his replacement—perhaps the two SS men would let something slip if they forgot about him.

"You're late." The first guard said dully. 

"Relax. It's not like this is a strenuous job or anything—there's nothing he can do in there." The arriving guard motioned to the silent general, ruining his hopes that they would ignore his presence. "Anyway," the second guard continued. "Looks like they're gonna hold on to him for a little while longer, so you can be late next time we switch watch if it means that much to you." 

_Good, keep talking. _Caraway tried to hide a small smile.

"Hey, quiet!" The original guard snapped. "He's not supposed to know anything!"

"Psht! Who cares what he hears?" The replacement agent blew out a breath. "It's not like he's gonna get the chance to tell anyone. The only way he's getting out of here is when she's sure that whatsit from the future is inside his head again. Even then—" His words were chopped off as the first guard backhanded him—not lightly—across the face.

"Shut up, asshole! You're going to get us in serious trouble!" 

"Ahh! You prick! I'm—" again the second guard's words were cut off mid-sentence as the first man reached inside his service jacket and withdrew a small, but dangerous-looking pistol.

Holding the weapon on the second man with a one-handed grip, the guard growled in an even, deadly voice. "One more word. One more word, and I won't report you; I'll shoot you." 

The replacement guard raised his arms, dropping his hand from where it had been rubbing his smarting jaw. Even though held at gunpoint, he still glared daggers at the first SS man, but remained silent.

"Sit down, watch the damn prisoner, and keep your fucking mouth shut!" The guard holstered his weapon. 

"…Prick!" The upset-looking agent spat as soon as he was sure the first guard was out of earshot. He scowled at the general. "What're you laughing at?"

They came for General Richard Caraway while he was asleep. After three uncertain days and two restless nights, he awoke to find himself restrained by four pairs of hands as he was blindfolded, handcuffed, and his feet were snapped into ankle cuffs. Unable to see, barely able to walk, he was hustled roughly out of his cell and down a lengthy corridor. 

_This is it. They've decided they don't need me anymore._ Having been given water only twice, and food not at all, the lethargy dulling the general's thoughts fought with the adrenaline rushing through his system. He struggled to remain calm and sharp-witted. _You know how this happens. You prepared for this eventuality during Deling's rule. Be a good captive and wait for your one chance…_ As he slowly shuffled down the seemingly interminable hallway, his thoughts drifted to the scant information he had gleaned from his captors over the past few days. _So the rumors about the time machine were real. And it doesn't just work on sorceresses. _A hint of the icy chill that had gripped his heart when the thought had first crossed his mind prickled the hair on the back of his neck. _What did they make me do? …Rinoa… did they make me betray you?_

Finally, painfully tight grips on the general's shoulders brought him up short. He heard the sound of a door slamming. Trying not to let his thirst-thickened tongue slur his words too badly, he spoke. "Please, before you shoot me, tell me: Is my daughter still alive?" Voicing the fear hurt even more than the punch in the stomach he received for his trouble, but he took fullest advantage of the pain. Falling into a shaky crouch as he doubled over, Caraway pretended to retch as he clutched at his stomach with his cuffed hands. Behind him, he heard the clicking of two hammers being drawn back. Two silenced gunshots whip-whipped and the thud from two falling bodies of the guards that knew too much echoed in the chamber. Though he was still weak from lack of food and rest, the general steeled himself. _This is your last chance…_ He had witnessed enough of these executions to know the procedure. 

Uncoiling his body with as much force as he could muster, the general threw his handcuffed fists out toward where he knew the second gunman would be standing, even as he rammed his head upward into where he hoped the first executioner's chin would be. As he felt the jaw of the closest gunman crunch from the impact of his skull, Caraway's clenched fists connected with the second gunman's… _body armor!_ Even as stars appeared in the blackness from the general's self-inflicted concussion, he tried to throw himself in the direction of the second executioner. His ankle chains stopped his lunge short, and he fell to the ground. 

As general Caraway struggled to stand from where he had fallen, he heard the door to the room open even as the cool pressure of a pistol muzzle pressed into the back of his scalp. There was a loud thudding noise, followed by the groaning of the gunman whose jaw had been broken. "What the hell?!" Someone nearby shouted. A second later the muzzle of the gun was pulled from Caraway's head and he heard the weapon fire twice. Concurrently with the firing of the pistol, his ears picked up the unmistakable spanging sound of a Protect spell. Then came a whistling noise followed by the unmistakable cracking sound of breaking bones. 

Suddenly, he general felt himself lifted bodily onto someone's shoulders in a fireman's-carry position. Still blindfolded, but realizing he was alive when—by all rights—he should not be, he coughed. "Who are you?"

"A friend." Came the reply from a distantly familiar male voice. 

…

"Delta Romeo Five Niner, disengage, goddammit!" Xu shouted into the laser line-of-sight transmitter—the only communications unit not filled by the Galbadian's jamming static—as she stood in the gunnery cupola of the SeeD marine assault craft as it sped away from the smoking garden. Instead of an acknowledgement, the receiver crackled with the triumphant cries of the students manning the gunnery turret as—two hundred yards to starboard—transport DR59 swept the deck of a Galbadian submarine clear of soldiers with the weapon's heavy-caliber rounds.

Xu was about to repeat the order when static blasted from the open channel as a second Galbadian sub's deck gun blasted DR59's turret into oblivion. Apparently, the concussion from the explosion had disabled the transport's engines as well, for the hydrofoil began to slow and settled into the choppy sea. 

"SeeD transports, do not assist!" Xu shouted while mashing the 'all units' transmission button. "Maintain heading and speed. Continue evasive maneuvering. And for Hyne's sake, don't engage the damn submarines!" She averted her eyes from the bright flash of DR59's fuel tanks igniting from a second Galbadian shell.

No other transports attempted to attack the pursuing Galbadian submarines after DR59 and the small flotilla quickly outpaced their pursuers. The Galbadian attack had not included air support, and for that Xu was thankful. Concerned, but thankful. Galbadian attack aircraft could no longer launch from airfield in Timber, it was true, but Xu was surprised that not one of the half-dozen Galbadian aircraft carrier groups had been assigned to support the assault on Balamb Garden. Not one to look between the talons of a gift chocobo, Xu shrugged as she ducked back down into the noisy interior of the transport.

She tried to block out the feelings evoked by the sight of so many wounded students and SeeDs—laid out on the rows of benches inside the transport as they were tended to by those uninjured during the vicious fighting. Proceeding to the front of the craft she stopped before the two SeeDs guarding the door of the tiny auxiliary briefing room that they had quickly converted into a separate cabin for the headmaster. "How is he?"

"The Stop has worn off. We were just about to go get you." The SeeD on the left—Dedig, no, Desmond something—said. "He's been asking for you."

Xu wasn't sure what to make of the strange expression on the SeeDs face. So, bracing herself instead, she stepped into the tiny cabin.

The headmaster was sitting, head down, a satellite communication unit in his hand. He idly pushed at the buttons.

Xu cleared her throat, loudly—to be heard over the transport's engines. "You wanted to see me, Sir." 

Cid's head came up. In his eyes was a strange look. "Yes… Xu. What is the code for the Deling City Squad?"

"Sir?" _You should know that, headmaster._

"Please, Xu." His voice was strained. "I've had a lot on my mind lately." He forced out a painful laugh. "I need the code."

"Of course." Xu's brow furrowed. "Sorry, sir." _What is he going to do?_ But Xu feared she already knew the answer to that question. She paused. "Sir…" Xu saw the headmaster's jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth, but she continued anyway. "…are you sure you want to do this, Sir? We don't know for sure if it was…" She stopped, not wanting to say it. "There's no conclusive proof that it was…" Xu trailed off as the headmaster raised a hand.

With an almost, almost exaggerated sigh, Cid spoke. "Xu. I've just received word from one of our transports—they managed to capture a Galbadian marine. They extracted from him, information on who authorized the attack." The headmaster's brow wrinkled as he looked down at the communicator he held in his hand. "It was the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly." He paused. "Now please give me the code."

Xu shook her head. "I can't believe it! I mean… how could Squall allow…?" She cocked her head. "How did you get that report? Which team sent it?" 

The headmaster's grip tightened on the communicator. "Xu, I don't know what the situation over in Deling is—I barely know what's going on here. One minute everything is fine in the Garden, and the next, we're all refugees. But I know this act of aggression will not go unpunished." The headmaster spoke through gritted teeth. "Now, give me the code. That is a direct order, SeeD."

_Nothing about Edea? Nothing about those who died? What's going on in your head, Cid?_ "Yes, sir." Xu sighed and complied. An order was an order. "But I don't know if the signal will get through the jamming."

"It will." The headmaster said shortly. "You are dismissed."

Not wanting to hear the order she knew Cid was about to give, Xu fled the cramped compartment. 

…

"There's gotta be some other explanation!" Zell waved his arms and shouted as he stomped about the tiny living area of the cramped apartment. 

"Zell, calm down. It doesn't mean anything, maybe she was just reading a speech made up for her by the government." Quistis tried to quiet the incensed SeeD. 

"That's bullshit, and you know it! Rinoa would never go along with anything like that!" Clenching and unclenching his fists, Zell looked about ready to start punching out walls. 

In one corner of the dingy little room, Irvine and Selphie clung unconsciously to one another as they watched the discussion between the Squad leader and Zell. "Maybe she didn't have a choice." Selphie offered.

"Whadaya mean?" Zell whirled to face her.

Picking up on his girlfriend's idea, Irvine continued for her. "Rinoa might have been under duress. Maybe they forced her to read that proclamation against her will."

Quistis nodded at the couple, happy for the alternative theory. _It **is** possible… We don't know what happened that whole time they were gone…_ "That's right."

"But she's a **sorceress**, she doesn't take shit from anybody—I watched how she dealt with **Squall**!" Zell was not convinced. "And she was out there in the open. She could have said anything she wanted with all those people around!" 

"Think about it, Zell." Quistis spread her hands. "Yes, she was out in the open—in front of thousands of **Galbadians**, surrounded by **armed **Galbadian soldiers, and she didn't know that we were there in case she needed help. Maybe she could have defended herself from everybody, but what if they threatened to kill Squall if she tried anything?" Quistis paused. "What do you think she'd do then?" 

"Well… yeah… **yeah**!" Slowly, Zell's scowl transformed into a spreading smile. "That must be it! It all makes sense!" Speaking quickly, Zell continued. "That's probably why Squall looked even more miserable than usual!" He paused to think for just a moment, then slammed one armored fist into the palm of his other hand. "Alright! I've got it!"

_Uh-oh._ Quistis looked at Zell.

Grinning back at her, Zell laid out his plan. "Right, ok, tonight, before everybody shows up for Squall's knighting—probably just another Galbadian propaganda event—we'll sneak into the presidential mansion and bust them out!" He smacked is fist into his hand again. "And if anybody tries to stop us, we'll just have to bust some heads!" The martial artist didn't look at all unhappy about the prospect for violence.

Quistis shook her head. "We can't do that, Zell."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because…" _We might find out something we don't want to know._ "…our orders strictly forbid any contact." Quistis temporized.

The floor shook under the impact of Zell's blow. "Dammit!"

Even as the creaking boards settled back into place, a muted buzzing reached Quistis's ears. Frowning, she plucked the ringing satellite communications unit from her belt, and toggled the receiver. Though the packet-squirt text-only message that scrolled across the screen was encrypted, she immediately recognized the code. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no!" The shock of seeing the message she had prayed would never come caused Quistis to take an involuntary step backward. Eyes wide in shock, face paling, she sank into a rickety wicker chair. "Oh no…"

…

_At last! At long last!_ The triumphant grin spread across Seifer's features. For the first time in uncountable months, Seifer felt like dancing. He felt like shouting. He felt like killing. _I knew this day would come, headmaster! You knew it too._ "Thank you." Seifer whispered to the darkening sky. _Thank you for this chance at my revenge, Cid._

Of course, he had known this course of events was inevitable. Resting in the shade of the sycamore tree, dead rose petals from the parade's ceremonies blowing across his prostrate legs, Seifer had waited for the signal. _After the speech she gave… it was only a matter of time until the SeeDs reported in…_ And then, of course, Cid would make the fateful decision. _They truly are mercenaries. _Seifer shook his head with an ironic smile. _Who would have thought they would turn their own friends in like that?_ He chuckled to himself. _But then again, who would've thought that bitch would turn on the garden so soon?_ "And Mr. Exemplary student. Mr. Top-notch mercenary." The bitter smile on Seifer's face continued to grow. "Squall Leonhart, traitor to his own cause. Destroyer of gardens." Seifer idly wondered how long it would be before Galbadia launched a strike against the two remaining SeeD holdouts. 

He shrugged. _It doesn't matter. The whole world is going into the fire, one way or another._ Having savored the moment long enough, Seifer reached into the left inside pocket of his trench coat. _But before it does, I'll have my revenge._ Withdrawing the sealed orders he had carried next to his heart since leaving Balamb, Seifer quickly broke the crest of Balamb Garden and slid the crisp sheets out of the plain envelope. Checking the code printed on the outside of the orders against the letters and numbers that appeared on his own satellite communicator, he confirmed the authenticity of the signal. _So how would you like the knight destroyed, headmaster?_ Seifer broke the final seal on the papers, and shook them out before him, unmindful of the sensitivity of the documents. _Who cares who sees me now? I know what I have to do, and no one can stand in my way._

Smoothing out the creased sheets, he began to read. 

Seifer read the documents three times over. 

Then Seifer read them again. 

The light wind blowing from the early fall twilight picked up a handful of dead blossoms, and sent them dancing capriciously betwixt the cold legs of the bronze statue standing at lonely attention beside the small, clear stream that ran through the park. The rigid sentinel's eyes did not blink at the sudden crackle of the man's iron laughter. Nor was the calm surface of the water disturbed as that same joyless laughter was twisted into a howl of indescribable fury. 

The same rusted statue and clear water did, however, reflect the wash of dark violet light of the Dispel magic as it enveloped the screaming man. Abruptly, the cry ended, the magic faded, and Seifer Almasy, former knight of Galbadia, stood unmasked in the fading light of the vanished sun. 

Their attention drawn by the noise, a few couples—who had been meandering through the city evening—exchanged surprised glances at the sudden appearance of the infamous individual, and hastily fled back toward the darkening streets of Deling city.

Seifer ignored them. He stared, instead, at the papers that had fallen from his nerveless fingers, his face a frozen mask of burning rage. Seifer's shoulders shook. "God damn you, Cid Kramer!" So powerful was the anger that consumed him, Seifer did not realize he was giving voice to his thoughts. "God damn you to hell!"

…

Thirty thousand feet below, the scattered forests that dotted the patchwork-quilt of farmland along the Timber-Galbadia border had already fallen into darkness. To the east, the lights of isolated farmhouses and rural villages were beginning to twinkle in the fuzzy purple twilight. For the pilot of the Galbadian strike aircraft, however, the sun still blazed a brilliant orange as it sank toward the hazy horizon. Even with the sun still visible, the wavery light of a few early evening stars twinkled through the deep lavender sky overhead. Caught between the lilac night above, and the cotton-candy pink clouds below, the jet fighter's engines gulped hungrily at the cold rarified high altitude air. 

To avoid night-blindness, the aircraft's pilot had turned the brightness of her Heads Up Display to its lowest setting. Leaning back on the foam cushions of the rocket-powered ejection seat, the pilot flipped up the lenses of her polarizing visor and gazed upward into the wings of the oncoming night. As the autopilot kept the aircraft's course true, the pilot scanned the newborn stars for a particular constellation—one that flashed red, white, and green. Tracking along the heading relayed through her headset earphones, the pilot's eyes finally acquired the running lights of the Galbadian refueling aircraft. 

Jockeying the fighter's fuel probe into the basket at the end of the dangling fuel line with practiced ease, the pilot quickly topped off her fuel tanks, keeping a light pressure on his left rudder pedal to compensate for the extra drag of the large blunt-nosed missile slung under the strike aircraft's right wing. 

Having completed the in-flight refueling without incident, the pilot banked her jet away from the tanker aircraft and made a long, slow turn that took the fighter deep into Timber's airspace. As expected, no anti-aircraft radar signals appeared on her scope, and the threat indicator stayed clear. 

The pilot spoke into the helmet microphone. "Echo-one has max fuel and is in position." 

"Acknowledged, Echo-one. Standby for mission clearance." The radioed reply was issued from a transmitter inside a military complex on the outskirts of Deling city, and relayed to the Galbadian fighter pilot through a command/communications aircraft circling three hundred miles west of the Dollett-Galbadia border.

"Roger that." The pilot responded, tracing a gloved finger across a Multi-Function Display that indicated his target's bearing and altitude. Running a second quick diagnostic on single missile she was carrying allowed the pilot to kill a few more moments as he waited for permission to strike. 

She did not have to wait long. "Echo one, clearance granted. Begin your attack run."

Grunting a brief acknowledgement, the pilot pushed the fighter's dual throttles to the stops. 

As the flameholders of the engines' afterburners ignited, the pilot pulled back steadily on the control wand, sending the aircraft into a steep climb. The altitude indicator on the right side of the HUD began scrolling rapidly upward. 

The pilot flipped the plastic shield on a separate control box up, and toggled an arming switch as the aircraft shot through fifty thousand feet. Beneath the right wing, the missile's radar seeker switched on, and began actively scanning the sky above for its target. 

The Galbadian strike craft's engines began to labor as the air grew thinner and its airspeed started dropping as the pilot urged her fighter past angels eighty. 

At eighty-five thousand feet, her g-suit and oxygen mask the only things standing between the pilot and the frigidness of the near vacuum in the aircraft's cockpit, the pilot detected a steady ringing tone in her ear—the missile was locked on target. After visually confirming the solid lock on the MFD, she depressed the firing switch on the missile's control box. 

As the heavy weapon dropped from the fighter's hardpoints, the pilot had to struggle to maintain control of her aircraft. A stall-warning buzzer sounded, and the fighter pitched sharply to the right. 

Flipping the fighter into a steep inverted dive, the pilot did not waste a glance at the brilliant flare of the missile's solid rocket motor as it streaked upward into the darkness of space. It was only after the thicker air of lower altitudes stiffened the resistance of the flightstick and increased the responsiveness of the jet to her control inputs that she begin to breathe easier, and bothered to check the missile's progress.

Two hundred miles above sea-level, the first stage motor of the missile burnt out and separated from the warhead with a tiny puff of compressed gas. Tiny jets of flame kept the coasting weapon lined up directly with its target. 

Keeping silent watch from Geosyncronous orbit, the Eshtarian communications satellite—now also being used as a communications relay for the SeeDs of Balamb and Trabia Gardens as part of a mutual assistance pact between the technologically advanced nation and the military training centers—lay quiescent after transmitting a series of encoded information packets. The transmissions had originated from a small transport hydrofoil in the oceans south of Balamb; their destination had been a trio of receivers in Deling City. Thirty miles below the satellite, its onboard computer confirming the final target solution, the small warhead of the Galbadian missile exploded, creating a spreading cloud of high-speed metal shrapnel. A few seconds later, the rising cloud of metal intersected the satellite's path. 

As quickly as fuel lines were punctured, and transmissions systems failed, the satellite's computer system shut them down, and re-routed internal functions to backup systems. Eventually, the computer ran out of redundant systems upon which to load failures. Its mechanical synapses had just begun to ponder what to do next when a bit of the Galbadian missile's casing tore through the central processing unit of the computer. An auxiliary system came online almost immediately, but was shut down just as quickly when a fragment of the missile's rocket motor destroyed the last fuel cell aboard the satellite. 

Eshtarian satellites orbiting above Galbadia, and above the world's oceans suffered a similar fate as, one-by-one; they were destroyed by Galbadian anti-satellite missiles. By the time the strike ended, nearly three-quarters of the planet's surface was affected by the satellite blackout.

…

In the tiny cabin aboard the SeeD transport, Headmaster Cid Kramer's mouth twitched into a quiet smile as he watched the uplink light on the communication unit die. As he leaned back on the hard plastic bench, he closed his cold, hard eyes and let out a contented sigh. A moment later, his nerveless body slumped over on one side, the communicator falling to the floor with a clunk that made inaudible by the noise from the transport's engine.

Slowly, the vibrations running through the hydrofoil's hull caused the headmaster's body to slide to the floor. As he fell, Cid's head hit the edge of a table bolted to the floor.

In the light of the terribly brilliant morning sun, the flotilla of SeeD marine landing craft raced south; taking the SeeDs of B-Garden away from the Galbadian submarine fleet, away from Balamb, away from their home.

…

"You're not going, and that's final." Squall placed his hands on his hips.

Rinoa blew a strand of hair from her face angrily. "You're beginning to sound just like my father!" The sorceress frowned. "So what are you saying, anyway? That you'll go out there alone, while I stay in here where it's safe?" She shook her head. "That's not the way it works, Squall. I have to be there! I want to be there!" Visibly straining to force the confrontational tone from her voice, Rinoa stepped closer to Squall. "This is really important… Not just for the people out there, not just for politics, but for **us**, Squall." She sighed. 

Squall grimaced, realizing that—as usual—nothing he said would change the sorceress's mind. "I know how important this is, Rinoa." He waved a hand out the window, toward the waiting limousine and escorts. "I know how important all of this has been." Squall paused. _I never would have let you go through with that parade if I didn't know how much it meant to you. _He fidgeted uncomfortably in the ornamental robes he had been forced to don for the occasion of his knighting. "But with the rumors about Seifer being sighted… with all the strange things that have been happening lately…" Squall hoped the look on his face would convey the greater meaning of the words carefully chosen in case of unseen eavesdroppers. _With the way the crowd acted during your speech—I've never seen people so excited when being told they need to lay down their arms. You yourself said that something had felt wrong…_

A pained expression crossed Rinoa's face. "There's always some rumor floating around. Either Ultemecia was seen shopping for oranges at Dresden Market, or Vinzer was seen pumping gas at the Boyle Unlimited station." Rinoa drew a breath. "You're just making up excuses to keep me…" _…out of danger._ Squall raised an eyebrow as Rinoa trailed off. _Well, girl, might as well say it. You know it's true. _Rinoa sighed inwardly. _I shouldn't get so annoyed with him. _"Look, Squall. I know you think it's dangerous out there for me. But it's dangerous for you too. I mean, I'm really happy you're trying to protect me…" Rinoa stepped even closer and took Squall's hand in her own. "…but you know, I'm worried about you too." 

Squall frowned gently. "What are you saying?" _I know what you're saying, but what do you mean? What do you want?_

Rinoa squared her shoulders, and slid so that she was standing directly in front of Squall, to be sure she was commanding his full attention. "Okay, It's like being a SeeD, I guess." Rinoa smiled as Squall cocked his head to the side. "I mean, there's always going to be danger, right?" She waited for Squall's reluctant nod. "So no matter what, when these sort of things come up, at least one of us is going to be in danger." Rinoa didn't pause, sparing Squall the obligatory nod. "And we both really…" _mm… not yet._ "…really care about each other. So we each hate to see the other one face danger alone." Rinoa looked down at her feet. "But, short of running off to Centra, it seems like trouble is always managing to find us. So if we can't help getting into these situations, then I'd…" Rinoa looked up. "If there's going to be trouble, I'd rather that both of us were in danger, together."

"That doesn't make strategic sense." Rinoa's face fell, but Squall was not finished. "It does, however, have some tactical merit." 

Rinoa still looked downcast. "Oh…" 

"And," Squall amended at length. "it feels right."

Rinoa brightened. "Of course." Smiling, she wrapped her arms around Squall in a tight bear hug. "So I'm coming with you." It was not a question.

"Right." Squall gasped as Rinoa released him. "I want you under Protect and Shell spells." 

"Yes, mother. You want Reflects, Regens, Triples, Auras, and Doubles with that?" Rinoa grinned at him.

"It's not a bad idea. Maybe Hastes too." Squall looked pensive.

"Hastes?" Rinoa rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that'd be real dignified. The new knight of Galbadia bouncing all over the place like an over-caffeinated chipmunk." 

"As his sorceress beats the snot out of everyone who looks at her sideways, like a berserk Wendigo on steroids." Squall chuckled. "Okay, we'll stick to Shells and Protects." 

"You're wearing them too." Rinoa poked a finger into Squall's chest. "No arguments."

"No arguments." He echoed.

…

"It's gotta be fake!" Zell shouted.

"Zell, all the codes check out. The message is legitimate." Quistis said dully. Though she addressed the upset SeeD, she was staring blankly at the wall. _The garden's been… destroyed? Only two transports got out? _Quistis was having trouble breathing. _All my friends… my students… can they really be dead? _Though she was sitting, her hands were locked tightly around the arms of the rickety wooden chair. The room seemed to be spinning, threatening to throw her off at any moment. _How could this have happened?_ Quistis had never felt anything like the emotions she was experiencing now._ We're lost. **We've** lost! Without the garden SeeD is nothing. T-Garden is almost gone, the White SeeD Ship—they're just kids, and there's so few of them. _Quistis swallowed, fighting down the rising nausea. _Just like that, SeeD is gone! Our entire lives devoted to it, and now it's gone!_ Her eyes slowly drifted across the shabby room, across what now had suddenly become a significant percentage of the world's remaining SeeDs. 

Selphie had curled up into a ball, her head was down and Quistis could not see her expression, but there were teardrops on the floor in front of her. _Even after T-Garden was bombed, Selphie didn't let us see her cry… She knows. She knows we're being wiped out._

Irvine had tried to place a comforting arm around the diminutive SeeD, but his efforts had gone unnoticed. His mouth was set in a thin line, his free hand kept straying unconsciously to the butt of his rifle as he chewed the news over in his mind. _After G-Garden fell, B-Garden was our last stronghold. What's left of T-Garden is immobile—they're sitting ducks…_

Having no ready response to the truth of Quistis dismal proclamation, Zell had taken to pacing the short length between the room's door and its far wall, muttering to himself and pausing occasionally to punch the air. Wood and plaster crunched under his feet every time he passed the hole he had put through the wall upon hearing the message relayed from the SeeD transports fleeing Balamb. _There were only White SeeDs at the ruins of the orphanage during Ultemecia's time. I thought that meant it would be far in the future. Could I have been wrong?_

__At last, Quistis's eyes came to rest on Dahyte. The squad leader had to suppress a shudder. The sniper was the only member of the team that had not reacted to the news of the garden's destruction—or the orders they had been given. Instead, she was calmly and carefully examining and cleaning every last component of a long-barreled bolt-action rifle—covered in a matte black material, like all the weapons Quistis had seen the sniper display during the mission. _Is it really because of Rinoa—and Squall?_

Quistis shook her head. "No." She whispered to herself. _Get a grip, Quistis. _She closed her eyes. 'Lacks leadership qualities' _Do I? Can I handle this? _'Do you believe them?' He had asked. 

"Yes." Quistis said, in a voice too low to be heard by anyone. A single tear stirred the dust on the floor below her chair. _But I **can** follow orders._ Her jaw locked tight as she straightened. Standing, Quistis drew in a breath—

—and was promptly cut-off. "Don't say it." Zell leveled an armored finger at Quistis. "Don't you dare say it. I don't care what that stupid code said, we're not gonna do this to Squall and Rinoa." 

Back to the wall, unnoticed by any of the SeeDs, the corners of Dahyte's eyes tightened imperceptibly. 

Quistis spread her hands. "You're right, Zell. We're not going to do this… not without further confirmation from the headmaster."

Zell looked a bit mollified. "Yeah. This could all be some big mistake. The Garden might still be there."

As Selphie and Irvine looked up, Quistis spoke again. "And it might not. We may be the last of the Balamb SeeDs." She had to fight against the quaver that threatened to inject itself into her voice. "But either way, I'm not going to jeopardize the peace treaty without confirmation of our orders." She resisted the urge to check the communications unit again to see if the uplink light had somehow, magically, winked back on. "I don't know why we've lost communication with the garden, but this action is too serious to be taken without further authorization." She drew in a breath. _God, I hope I know what I'm doing. _"Until I hear from Cid himself, that we're to… to… carry out these orders, we're going to set ourselves up to observe and wait."

In the corner of the room, still silently cleaning her weapon, Dahyte's lip curled so slightly that the change was unnoticeable. The situation had just become infinitely more complicated.

…

It was the pain that woke Cid. Not the throbbing lump on his forehead, not aching of joints grown unused to the rigors of combat, but rather the dull burning of his crushed heart. As he regained consciousness, the events of the past few hours snapped into sharp focus, the memories further twisting at his already cracked soul. Even while his memories sharpened, the room blurred through the tears of that filled his eyes and ran down, over the bridge of his nose, to the floor. Lying on his side, face pressing into the metal floor plates, the headmaster opened his mouth in a wordless cry of anguish—yet not a sound could he force from his broken heart. 

Cid squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. _Edea…_

And she was there. The gentle lines of her cheekbones disappeared as the look of concern flashed across her serene features. "Cid, we have to send the SeeDs to Deling. If we tip our hand, if we show we know too much before Rinoa's ready…" 

For the briefest moment, Cid felt the bleeding gouge in his heart sealed over by the cool balm of memory as he heard himself speaking to his wife. "But if they kill them, she'll never be ready."

Edea's long dark hair brushed Cid's shoulder, the hint of its perfume tickling his senses. _Dear god, let me die now. Here in this memory. Let it be the ending note of my life. Let my heart burst and join me with my love._ It was not to be. Instead, the memory continued to play on in his mind. "You must ensure that does not happen, my knight. Even if we are killed, they must live on." Edea shivered slightly as she drew closer Cid. "This is what I have seen through the eyes of Ultemecia. This is what must be."

The headmaster placed his arms around the shoulders of his wife. "What is going to happen, Edea? What did you see when she was in your mind?"

The former sorceress looked up into Cid's eyes. Tears glittered in the corners of her own. "I cannot predict the future, my love…" Her arms wrapped around his back, she drew the headmaster into a tight embrace. "…and we cannot change the past."

Cid's eyes snapped open again. He focused on satellite transmitter, lying where it come to rest after falling from his grasp. The uplink light was dead. 

Cid knew he had been made to give the order. He knew that the events so carefully prepared against had already been set into motion. The headmaster also knew he should try to stop it somehow. Despite everything that had happened, he was still responsible for the SeeDs of Balamb Garden. He knew Edea had wanted him to carry on.

"But I can't, my love." Cid gasped silently as the screws in his heart were driven in one twist deeper. "Not without you." _Nothing else ever meant anything to me. I control one of the greatest military forces on the planet, but that's meaningless now. _Teeth gritted in anguish, the headmaster covered his face with his arms. _I have nothing left._

_ _

"Aw, dammit, Fujin!" Rajin threw down the Triple Triad card he had been trying to conceal from his one-eyed compatriot. "It took me forever to get that stinkin' Marlboro card, ya know! Why don't you take my Jelleye instead?"

"NEGATIVE." Fujin held out her hand expectantly. 

Sighing, Rajin was just about to drop the card into Fujin's open hand when the door to the flat slammed open with a loud bang. 

Fujin was on her feet immediately, her hand stopped as it dropped to her Pinwheel when she saw the figure standing in the open doorway. Rajin was halfway to the wall against which his Staff leaned when he recognized the figure who had interrupted their card game. He did a double-take. "Seifer? Whoa, what happened to your disguise? You're gonna get spotted for sure like that, ya know!"

Seifer ignored the question. "Where are the SeeDs?" 

"CORONATION." Fujin's hand dropped from her weapon to her hip.

"Yeah, that's right. They left about ten minutes ago." While Fujin's attention was directed elsewhere, Rajin hastily scooped his cards—along with the precious Marlboro card—back into his own deck. "What's up?"

"Did the sniper go with them?" Seifer's asked.

"No. It was kind of weird, ya know? She waited until they left—acted like she wasn't going or something. Then, all of a sudden, she just took off after they were gone." Slipping the cards back into an inner pocket of his vest, Rajin shrugged. "Why? We goin' somewhere?"

Seifer's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

From the top of the department store building, Irvine had a fairly good view into the open-air amphitheater, which was lit by the brilliant coppery glare of sulfur floodlights. The murmuring roar of the thousands of voices from the crowd overflowing the edges of the bowl-shaped arena, set into the ground near Deling's city center, wafted up to his seventh-floor perch as Irvine peered—through his binoculars—over the lip of the roof. Beside him the Exeter lay flat on the gritty concrete, it's chamber empty. 

"Quistis?" Irvine spoke into his walkie-talkie. "We're set up here. Two buildings to the left behind you." 

A brown-haired head Irvine believed to belong to the disguised squad leader turned in the milling mass of humanity to look behind her. "Citer and Willkome?" His radio crackled.

"That's right. I'm keeping my head down, I've seen a few Galbadian sharpshooters deployed around the amphitheater down there." Irvine replied. 

"Tell her I'm up here too." Selphie spoke from behind the G-Garden SeeD.

"Selphie says 'hi'." Irvine relayed.

"Right. Remember, don't do anything—just keep your eyes open." Irvine saw Quistis's head turn back to face the stage set in the bottom of the excavated auditorium.

"You're the boss." _Right. Like I'm going to shoot Squall or Rinoa._

An expectant hush fell over the crowd around Quistis. Craning her neck to see over the people before her, she watched as a procession of dignitaries from the various branches of the Galbadian government filed out onto the stage below. Difficult though it was, to distinguish details on the figures gathering at the bottom of the amphitheater, Quistis did her best to scrutinize their faces, but gleaned very little from the solemnly neutral expressions fixed on their features. As a wave of subdued applause swept up from the lower rows of seats and over her position, Quistis used the noise to cover her next transmission. "Zell, are you in place?" 

"I'm as close to the stage as I can get, Quistis. No sign of anything out of place down here." Quistis could almost hear him silently adding 'no sign of Seifer.'

Suddenly, the applause coming from all around Quistis increased dramatically in volume, isolated shouts and whistles broke from the crowd. Looking down again, Quistis could see the figures of Squall and Rinoa making their way across the stage toward a slightly raised dais at the focus of the amphitheater. She opened a second radio channel. "Dahyte, we're in position to observe here. Nothing untoward happening. Is everything still all quiet back at the base?" Placing a hand over her ear to block out the noise of the crowd around her, Quistis concentrated on trying to pick up a response. _Come on, please answer. _She prayed. A moment passed. _Come on, Dahyte, you're a SeeD, just like us. Follow your orders; report in._ She bit her lip. One last prayer. "Dahyte? Report in. What is your position?" _What are your intentions?_ "Dammit, SeeD! That's a direct order from your commanding officer! Report your location at once!"

_Not bloody likely, traitor._ The SeeD sniper, clad in a loose-fitting black jumpsuit, crouched behind the dark mass of an air-conditioner condenser on the roof of a large bookstore. It wasn't the most ideal of locations—her view into the open auditorium was not as clear as she would have liked—but anything higher would have made her profile unacceptably high. _I can't believe it's come down to this. _She thought, as she gently twisted the rifled barrel and stock of her weapon together. As the clean, well-oiled components snapped into place, she withdrew a long, glass-ended black cylinder from the backpack resting against the sheet-metal siding of the condenser. _Balamb Garden destroyed by the very person it sheltered. _Ensuring the locking rail for the laser guide was free from any sort of dust or debris that might skew it's aim, Dahyte slid the device into it's slot parallel to the rifle's barrel. _And now these people—the heroes of the battles against Ultemecia—they refuse to believe their friends have turned against them._ Dahyte almost shook her head as she withdrew the five-round clip of magic-imbuedammunition. _They still don't understand; you have no friends in this world._

Two weeks earlier, the SeeD sniper had visited one of her most trustworthy suppliers in Deling with an order for bullets that could pierce even the heaviest of magical shielding. Dahyte frowned at the memory. The supplier had acted even more strangely than usual when she had returned for the specialized rounds. She had inspected the bullets thoroughly after receiving them. Deep within the sewers of the city, she had cast Protects, Reflects, and Shells on a Grand Mantis that had decided to try and make a meal out of the black-clad woman. The first round had slipped through the protective magic she had cast—as well as the Mantis's armored hide—and killed it instantaneously. Two Creeps and a second Grand Mantis had all met similar fates before Dahyte had been satisfied that the rounds could indeed—as promised—penetrate even the most powerful protective spells.

This time Dahyte did shake her head slightly—clearing from it all thoughts except for those pertinent to the mission ahead. All thoughts, save one. _Yes, you have no friends in this world… only people waiting to betray you._

"Shit." Quistis muttered viciously as she whirled and began shoving her way through the crowd that was pressing forward—in order to get a better view of the sorceress and knight, now standing side-by-side on the central dais as the adjudicator of the newly-resurrected Galbadian Senate began the knighting with a speech.

"Irvine!" She shouted, unmindful of the irritated looks from the people she jostled. "Irvine! Dahyte's not responding! She's probably here! See if you can spot her!" Quistis did not wait for the sharpshooter's reply. "Zell! Get out of the auditorium, and move onto Main Street, be ready to go after Dahyte if anyone spots her in the buildings there!" 

"Quistis, shouldn't I warn Squall and Rinoa first!?" Came a staticky reply. "I mean, I'm right here, I could—" 

"Negative! She might not try anything." _And Geezars might sprout wings and fly…_ "We can't risk giving ourselves away." Breaking through the outer edges of the gathered crowd, Quistis looked wildly up at the dozens of dark rooftops lining the boulevard. _I'll never be able to see her in all this!_ Nearly every way she turned, Quistis saw a potential hiding spot for the renegade SeeD.She was just about to call Irvine again, when something in the corner of her eye caught Quistis's attention. A tiny black moon-cast shadow—nearly obliterated by the bright streetlamps—lay along the brick façade of a three-story bookseller's store. A shadow that just might—yes! A shadow that was indeed in the unmistakable shape of a rifle barrel capped by a flash-suppressor. Quistis thanked Hyne for her luck junction. There was no other explanation as to how such an unobtrusive shape could have caught her attention. 

"Irvine! Sniper on the rooftop of Capricorn Bookseller's Incorporated!!" Quistis dashed into the narrow alleyway beside the building. Receiving no response, she transmitted again. "Irvine?! Are you reading me?! Stop her!!"

Bending down over Irvine's limp form, Seifer pulled the SeeD's gun from his motionless hands. Behind him, an undisguised Fujin stepped over a Sleep-enchanted Selphie. She nodded to the squawking radio. "SNIPER. INTERESTING." 

Hefting the gleaming weapon, Seifer peered through the rifle's sights into the crowded amphitheater. Centering the crosshairs on Squall's chest, his finger tightened on the trigger. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

Dahyte knew she would have time for three, maybe four shots before the sharpshooters she had picked out of the crowd would figure out where the gunfire was coming from. _I'll only need two. Kill the Sorceress. Kill the traitor. That's all._ Depressing a switch on the laser guide attached to the barrel of her weapon, Dahyte placed one eye to the telescopic sight. A light green dot appeared on the curtain that hung across the rear of the amphitheater's stage—visible only through the scope of the SeeD's rifle. Checking the range finder, Dahyte slowly twisted a knob on the side of the sight until the cross-hairs were positioned a few millimeters below the green dot—the distance the bullet would fall from the time it exited the gun's barrel to the time it reached it's mark. Switching the laser off, she let her arms sink into a resting position on the rough stone of the edge of the roof. Ever so slowly, she let the gun slide—as if of it's own accord—to the right, until the cross-hairs stopped over the Sorceress's left breast. Unconsciously letting out half a breath, Dahyte's eyes narrowed as she rested her index finger on the weapon's trigger.

"**DAHYTE!! STOP!!**" Faster than the eye could follow, a silenced semiautomatic pistol appeared in Dahyte's right hand as she twisted to face Quistis who vaulted over the last few rungs of the building's fire escape ladder. Her body still lying in a position pointing forward, Dahyte aimed the weapon and fired it from under her left arm—never releasing her grip on the sniper rifle.

As she dove to the right, Quistis felt a stinging sensation in her left arm as the first bullet hissed through her sleeve, searing her skin with the heat of its passage. Tracking her movements, Dahyte fired again. 

Quistis felt her body spun around by the force of the second bullet as it tore through her skin and impacted against her lowest left rib. Part of the lead casing of the armor-piercing round buried itself in the broken rib, but the machined steel core of the bullet simply ricocheted off the bone, tunneled through her abdomen, and clipped her spine before leaving her body—piercing the aluminum side of the air-conditioner against which Quistis stumbled.

Not quite comprehending what had happened, Quistis tried to lever herself up against the side of the condenser as the black spots that appeared before her eyes quickly ate up the remaining light. Before the darkness engulfed her, Quistis saw Dahyte drop the smoking pistol and turn back to the rifle's sight.

"Stupid." The sniper whispered to herself as the crosshairs drifted over Squall's back—he had turned to face the sorceress—and centered the over Rinoa's heart. _That's what standing by your 'friends' will get you. There's only one constant in this world…_ Dahyte's finger gently squeezed the trigger until she heard the rifle's hammer click back into the firing position. _…and I'm about show these traitors just what that is._

Standing fully exposed on the rooftop of the department store, Seifer carefully centered the Exeter's sights on his target. _God, I hate you, Squall._ He pulled the trigger and the weapon bucked against his shoulder.

The scope sight of Dahyte's rifle exploded in her face. The weapon barked once as she fell backwards in a spray of glass and wood splinters, the round flying off into the night sky. Even as the shock of the shards tearing at her face hit Dahyte, she rolled backward—toward the cover of the air-conditioner. At the same time, her hand disappeared into her vest, and emerged—as she fetched up behind the condenser—holding the silenced .38 she had used to shoot the SeeD squad leader. The SeeD sniper knew she should have already been dead, but Seifer's aim had been off. 

…

As the adjudicator of the senate droned on, Rinoa felt herself slipping into a tired daze. Despite the thousands of pairs of eyes fixated on her, despite the glare from the floodlights, despite the fact that her life—and the life of her knight could very well be in danger right this moment, she was having difficulty keeping her senses sharp and alert for trouble. She concentrated on the back of Squall's head—standing one step below her, facing the crowd—in an attempt to throw off the wet blanket of fatigue that had fallen over her mind. For a moment, the smile she had locked on to her features widened into an expression of genuine pleasure. _Those robes make him look so soft and cute. Just like a big white marshmallow!_ Rinoa had to hold in a giggle at the thought of the looks she would receive if she hopped down off of the dais right now and gave Squall a big squeeze. Letting her eyes drift down to the dark blue crest of Galbadia that was emblazoned across the shoulders of her knight's cloak. Not for the first time, vexation at the unreality of their situation washed over her. _Is this all really happening? It's like some strange dream. I feel like I'm going to suddenly wake up from all this, and we'll be back in the garden, adrift at sea—or maybe flying somewhere aboard the Ragnarok._ But they were not, Rinoa realized. _He's not a SeeD anymore, and I'm not just another idealistic revolutionary._ She made a conscious effort not to shake her head. _No… I'm the sorceress of Galbadia, and he's about to officially become my knight. _The slightest twinge of fear prickled across her forearms. _It's all so serious. So many people around us, so many strange things are happening so fast… I mean, I hardly even know him!_ Even as the thought crossed her mind, Rinoa dismissed it. 

_No, that's not true. I've known him forever. I've seen him in my dreams for so long… I noticed other guys, sure, but I knew they weren't the one. _Rinoa's smile grew again. _I've been waiting for my knight for all these years. _

The adjudicator had finished his speech, and now another faceless dignitary was speaking of the unity and stability that a sorceress and knight would bring to the nation. There were only seconds left before the sealing of the coronation. 

Rinoa accepted the long, jewel-encrusted scepter with which she would touch three spots on her knight's back—as dictated by tradition; signifying something, something, and something else—as he knelt before her. _Things are happening so fast, Squall. But as long as you're with me, I don't mind._ As her knight turned to face her, Rinoa gazed searchingly into his hooded eyes. _Do you feel the same way, Squall? Do you…_

__Knighted, Squall rose. One last ceremony remained; a final sealing of their political partnership, but Rinoa knew how much more it meant to them. Standing on the same dais used by generations of sorceresses before her, she could feel their thoughts, their emotions, and she knew they mirrored her own. 

As he held out his hand to accept the ring—the same ring a friend had, long ago, used to cast a brother to the first—Squall met Rinoa's gaze, his head unconsciously canted to the side just a hair. Griever flashed as Rinoa brought the engraved circlet up into the light. _…Do you love me, Squall?_

The tiniest smile crept across his lips, the answer to his sorceress's question swimming in the depths of his eyes.

The answer was—erased by the sudden pain that flitted across Squall's features. He staggered slightly and the ring was brushed from Rinoa's fingers by Squall's shoulder as he pitched forward. It fell, glinting in the golden light, striking a silver note as it hit the cold surface of the stage. For a split-second, the echo of the fallen ring was the only sound as the universe drew its breath. Squall hung before Rinoa, trapped in time—half kneeling, half falling. Then two more gunshots rang out. Someone near the front rows of the amphitheater screamed, and the world dissolved into chaos. 

Rinoa fell to her knees, catching Squall as he stumbled. Even as dark-clad forms of security personnel flooded the stage, she felt him sink against her, his shuddering breath caressing her cheek. Wrapped around his back, her hands pressed against the warm wetness soaking through the folds of fabric. "Squall!" 

As she clung tightly to her knight, Rinoa could feel his tightened muscles begin to relax. Squall's head rolled back allowing her to watch as the light faded from his eyes. His lips formed his final breath into a whisper. "Rinoa, I…" But the strength left him before he could finish.

"No!" Rinoa clutched at him, trying to keep his soul from slipping away, but she could feel the cold fingers that began to permeate her knight—pushing Squall's life from his body. "No!" 

Rinoa could feel the last tendril of Squall's soul slipping out of her tenuous grasp. She desperately raised a hand, trying to hold it back, trying to draw him back to her. She failed. "Squall!!"

The candle that guttered in the magical wind was burnt nearly down to nothing. Made of wax from the boiled down remains of a thousand Blood Souls, its wick thin twistedtendrils of sinew from Torama whiskers soaked in the liquefied Forbidden marrow, the candle's violet flame twisted and danced in a ghostly draft as the tip of its flame melted into a pillar of chocolate smoke. As the woman traced sparkling paths of emerald sorcery in the air, her long, pure white hair shook. She danced about the flickering flame, chanting unintelligible phrases in a low, sultry voice. Slowly, the smoke from the candle was molded by the magical words until it took the shape of a man, a man with long hair that fell over his sightless eyes, and partially hid the scar that traced an angry path from his brow to the bridge of his nose. Branching out from a dark disc that suddenly appeared in the man's back, tendrils of deep green witchcraft quickly suffused his body. As the last of the candle's smoke was enclosed within spider webs of liquid emerald, the lavender eyes of the woman flashed with triumph. Her burgundy lips pursed slightly as she blew the slightest zephyr of air at the smoke. It fled the man's body as if pushed by a hurricane. "You are mine now, Squall Leonhart!"

Shoulder-to-shoulder with two other agents, forming a protective barricade in front of the sorceress and knight with their bodies, Secret Serviceman Tairsay Ricken heard the sorceress's anguished cry. He turned to look at her, and was thrown from his feet by the blast of two great bolts of lightning arcing down from the sky above, striking the tips of the stones arrayed across the sorceress's back. Though the light of it seared his eyes, he could not turn his head from the terrible beauty of the sorceress's magic. The great channels of energy, that seemed to branch from the sorceress herself, filled the night sky, tracing out two towering, skeletal wings. Between the flaming bones of lightning, a leathery skin of dark smoke twisted and undulated—as if trying to tear itself free of them. Beneath these fearful, magical wings, the sorceress Rinoa stood with her arms outstretched, her head thrown back, and her eyes shining, pupil-less and golden. Before her, the body of the knight, Squall Leonhart, floated motionless, four feet above the stage.

The air was filled with white noise as the brilliant channels of electricity seemed to fold forward around the sorceress and knight, collapsing down into a cocoon of blinding silver light that surrounded the dais.

The feathery eyebrows of the woman lowered at the tiny sparkle of silver within the Squall-shaped latticework of malevolent green magic. Raising her left arm, she pointed a delicate finger, tipped by a long crimson nail at the twinkle of light, intoning the words of an ancient curse. The light flickered and died. 

The woman's lips had just begun to curl upward into a smile when the jade form before her exploded in a shower of pulsing white light, throwing her against the far wall of the now-bright chamber. The silver glare strobed painfully through her closed eyelids—even through the protective arm she had thrown over her face. "Such power!!" The exclamation was forced, unbidden, from her lips even as she cowered against the flashing brilliance. 

A moment later, the flare dimmed and disappeared, leaving no trace of the emerald man-shape, only the dim flickering of a nearly burnt-out candle.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, the woman blinked in the sudden darkness. "Such power…" She repeated to herself. "…I must have it!" 

The glowing cocoon encircling the sorceress and knight faded. Squall's chest rose as he drew in a breath, then another. Before he could draw a third, a fourth shot rang out in the night. 

"No." Rinoa's eyes flashed a glowing scarlet as she raised a hand. A spinning bullet, suspended before her, dissolved like dust in the wind. Behind it, a gleaming finger of orange light traced its way back to the muzzle of a gun, held in the hands of a man, standing on the rooftop of the Galbadian First National Bank. Before any of the Galbadian sharpshooters could aim their weapons, the sorceress Rinoa's eyes flashed again with amber rage and a beam of cerulean energy blasted from her upraised hand.

Felix Crow blinked. He looked down at the gun in his hands. He blinked again. _What the hell? What am I doing up here?_ He stared down at the finger of orange light issuing from the barrel. _But I was just… just… I was just… _…out fishing. The last thing Felix could remember, he had been spending a lazy afternoon lounging in the bottom of his neighbor's canoe, which he had taken out to the lake for an afternoon of relaxing angling. 

Felix was still confused when the beam of blue sorcery erased him—along with the top two floors of First National Bank. 

Dahyte heard a third shot ring out just before she popped over the top of the condenser and squeezed off five rounds at the top of the building where Seifer had been standing, seconds beforehand. As she dropped back down behind the cover of the air-conditioning unit and slammed a second clip into her weapon, Dahyte heard the roar of the crowd from within the amphitheater. _Damn that bastard! What was he doing?! _She knew her chance was past. It was time to get out. Maybe that third shot had taken out the target—maybe not, but she could no longer hope to hit the sorceress tonight. 

Stepping over Quistis's prone form, Dahyte noticed that she was still breathing. She raised her pistol—then lowered it. _That's not my mission._ Holstering the weapon, she gathered herself, then sprinted across the open space between the condenser and the black entryway of the stairwell that opened onto the roof. She had just made it through the door when an armored fist came screaming out of the darkness in front of her.

"Uh, Seifer, so, ya know, what do we do now?" Rajin asked nervously, peering over the side of the building at the police cars, armored personnel carriers, and tanks parked in the streets below—surrounding the building. 

As the searchlight from a circling helicopter caught him out in the open, Seifer raised both his arms high over his head. "Now, my friends," he shouted to be heard over the roar of the aircraft's rotors. "we surrender."

…

"Just keep pressure on it!" Irvine threw both hands down as he cast the Esuna spell on himself. Blue-white tendrils of fire ran up his arms as the magic backfired and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming.

"She's dying, Irvine!" Selphie's voice quavered as she beseeched the tall SeeD for help that she knew he could not give. 

"It's no good, darlin'. I can't cast anything in here!" Irvine wished, for the thousandth time, that he had been conscious when the guards had removed his first aid equipment—maybe he could have hidden something that might have helped Quistis. Although, from the seriousness of the gunshot wound, he doubted—even then—that there would have been anything he could do for their friend.

Zell, like the rest of the SeeDs, had been dispelled back to his old self by their captors. He struck a heavy blow against the bars of their cell. Irvine heard bones crunching as the SeeD's unarmored fist slammed into the solid steel. 

"Zell, stop that, you're just going to hurt yourself." _More._ Irvine growled as he knelt beside Quistis and Selphie. The squad leader's breath was shallow and ragged. Her eyes were closed tightly and her face bore an unhealthy pallor. Despite Selphie's best efforts, dark red blood still oozed from between the small SeeD's fingers, and—Irvine knew—Quistis would be loosing even more of the precious liquid through her internal injuries.

"But we've got to get **out**!" Zell grunted from between clenched teeth as he—cradling his right fist in his left hand—lashed out against the cell's door with a shod foot.

"Hey! Quiet down in there!" A glowering guard rapped his nightstick on the bars of the cell as he strolled up. "Woa!" He jumped back as Zell made a dive for him, jamming a grasping arm between the bars. Attempting to catch the SeeD's exposed arm, the guard whipped his club around, but Zell managed to pull the appendage back just in time. 

"Listen up! You'd better let us outta here—" Zell began.

Irvine quickly cut him off. "Sir, our squad leader is dying. She's not going to make it until the interrogation unless you get her a doctor."

Careful to stay well away from the bars, the guard shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, she'll probably make it." He looked over his shoulder. "'cause it looks like it's about to get started." He turned to address someone out of the SeeDs' lines of sight. As he did so, the guard sank to one knee in a gesture of submission. "M'lady, the four SeeDs you requested are all here." He shot a quick glance into the cell. "One of them appears to be injured, but you should be careful of the others—are you sure you don't want me to get your escort?"

The sorceress Rinoa stepped into full view of the cell's occupants. "Leave us." She dismissed the guard with a wave of her hand.

Trying to kneel even lower, the guard protested nervously. "But m'lady, these SeeDs, they are dangerous—" His mouth snapped shut as the sorceress's eyes flashed in anger. "Y-yes, m'lady." His will twisted by Rinoa's witchcraft, he rose and scurried off.

Rinoa gazed into the cell. She did her best to keep the thin veneer of haughtiness from cracking as she looked over the disheveled SeeDs. _How could you? You were my friends… You were his friends! How could you do this to us? _Only sorcery kept the tears stinging her eyes hidden from the cell's occupants. _Were you all possessed? Were you all lied to? Still… how could you spy on us like that? How could you make preparations to kill your own friends?_ Rinoa carved new lips from stone and placed them over her own trembling flesh. _How I wish we could talk openly. How I wish I could find out why you betrayed us. Maybe—maybe there could be some explanation._

Selphie spoke, breaking the spell between the SeeDs and sorceress. "Rinoa… please… Quistis is dying." Her eyes were pleading. "Can't you do something?"

_Quis… how could you stand by and let them kill him?_ Rinoa's eyes hardened. _Shall I stand by now and let you die? Were you with… were you…the shooter—was it you I lashed out at?_ Rinoa ignored Selphie's question. "What happened?" 

Zell's brows knit together. "Rinoa? C'mon man! Quistis needs your help! We can talk about this later!"

_Zell… why? Why did you go along with this?_ Rinoa's voice was flat, emotionless. "What were you doing in Deling?"

Irvine looked up from where he was kneeling. "Rinoa…"

_Irvine… Selphie… _Rinoa had no words, she had no thoughts. Suddenly, it was too much. These people had been her **friends**! She had to get out of here! Her heart hardening, she spoke to the SeeDs. "We were once friends. Once, we depended on one another, we protected one another. Until tonight, I thought that was still the way things were." She turned her head away from them. "You have shown me that this is no longer true." 

"Rinoa… it's not what it seems—" Irvine began.

"Silence!" Rinoa's voice echoed in the empty corridor. "I don't know why you were in Deling. I don't know why you were in disguise tonight. I don't know why you were armed, and I don't know what you were doing with Seifer, Rajin, and Fujin, and a SeeD sniper." _And I don't want to know._ "These things have not made me forget the friendship we once had, however. Because of that, you will be released. You will be escorted out of Galbadia and told to never return." Her eyes pierced the SeeDs' souls. "Do not return." With that, Rinoa's composure threatened to break down entirely. Keeping her face averted, she pointed a finger at Quistis's still form. A quiet popping noise accompanied the bright flash that lit the cell. When the SeeDs vision had cleared, Rinoa was gone.

For a second, Selphie thought that Rinoa had not understood the severity of Quistis's injury, the sorceress's magic had missed, or that the anti-magic fields had overwhelmed the her power, but even as she continued to press down on the entry wound, she could hear Quistis's labored breathing easing. A moment later, the blood flowing from between her fingers stopped. Quistis's eyelids twitched.

…

Back to the cold stone wall of the darkened stairway, Rinoa drew in a shuddering breath. She desperately wanted to return to the SeeDs' cell, to erase the façade she had to effect, to tell them everything she knew… and find out why they had come to Deling. But to do that would give away the scant advantage over the person controlling the time-travel machine she and Squall had so carefully preserved over the past weeks. 

Sliding down the wall, Rinoa seemed to deflate as she exhaled. Finally slumping into a 

sitting position, she hugged her knees to herself and hid her face. She wished Squall were here. He would know what to do. He wouldn't be affected by the fact that nearly everyone he trusted had just attempted to murder him. But Squall was not here. Through the fabric of her dress, Rinoa could feel the tears as they dampened her legs.

She had tried, she had tried as hard as she dared, after that initial burst of power and light, to awaken her knight. The malignant magic had been erased, the bullet destroyed, his wound healed, but still Squall did not awaken. 

After receiving the report of the SeeDs' identity and condition, Rinoa had sat in the long, cold limousine for nearly three hours—holding Squall's head in her lap and gently stroking his hair—as the vehicle had idled at the doors to the Galbadian tower prison. When he still evidenced no signs of waking, she had—at last—forced herself to visit the SeeD team, fearing that to wait any longer might result in Quistis's death. She, unlike—it seemed—her friends, could not stand to have any of their blood on her hands.

Like the tiniest ember of a dying fire, the angry thought stuck in the ash of her sorrow. Rinoa waited for the spark to die, but instead, it was fanned into flame by a breeze of memories. How many times had the world tried to take her from her knight? How many fires had they been forced to walk through together, only to have the flames separate them again?

On the left side of the square stairwell, large, uninsulated pipes ran vertically up into the bases of ascending flights of stairs. On one of the pipes, a drop of condensation began to form, sparking dully in the dim lighting. Flecks of rust drifted to the bottom of the droplet as it swelled. At last, the teardrop of the dark underground fell to the pitted and scarred surface of a flight of stairs. 

By the time the noise of the dripping water reached Rinoa, she was standing, the anger flowing through her veins like liquid fire. Her eyes reddened but dry, the sorceress's lips were stretched into angry white lines as she hissed the name against which the boiling hatred within her had chosen to focus. "Seifer."

His hard, flat eyes narrowed slightly as the malicious grin forced his cheekbones upward. "Finally get lonely, Sorceress?" Seifer sneered. His words were rewarded with a blazing bolt of Thunderaga that lifted the defenseless former knight and slammed him against the back wall of his cell. 

Electricity still crackling from the fingers of her right hand, Rinoa snarled at the cell's crumpled occupant. "Shut up, Seifer. The condemned have no right to speak."

Forcing himself to his knees, supporting his weight with one arm, Seifer looked up at the Sorceress defiantly. "I remember when I did that to Squall once." He bared his teeth. "Tell me; how is he these days?" A second bolt of the lightning magic ripped through his body, and he collapsed to the floor.

Rage had twisted Rinoa's face into an almost unrecognizable mask. "Seifer, I used to abhor killing, but I am beginning to think that I will truly enjoy executing you."

From where he lay, Seifer coughed. "Well, then Squall has taught you well. You'll have to tell him all about it when he wakes up."

The sorceress slowly lowered her hand, the swirling emerald Ultima magic she had been preparing to cast dimming. "How do you know…" Her anger's power faltered, and she could not finish the words.

Levering himself to his feet once more, Seifer regarded the sorceress. "How do I know he's going to wake up?" He forced a laugh. "Because I wish with all my soul that he would not."

Rinoa's jaw tightened. "Nice try, Seifer." She shook her head with a short, vicious jerk. "Nice try, but you can't talk your way out of this one." She snarled. "I know how your feelings for Ultemecia forced you to do the things you did, but this time you've gone to far."

Seifer's gaze locked with Rinoa's and he spoke in a slow, deadly voice. "Make no mistake, Sorceress. My 'feelings' for Ultemecia were love. I loved her as she loved me. You murdered my lover, Rinoa." 

"That is in the past. You can't change it, and I won't accept it as an excuse for what you did tonight. How many times did you think you could try to kill us and expect forgiveness, Seifer?" Rinoa hissed back.

To Rinoa's surprise, at these words, Seifer threw back his head and laughed painfully. "You think that it was **I** that tried to kill you tonight, Sorceress?" He jabbed a finger to his chest. "I **saved** your life tonight."

Rinoa shook her head again. "You expect me to believe that?"

The former knight's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. "No." He said. "That's why I held on to this." Reaching into his cloak, Seifer withdrew an envelope stamped with the seal of Balamb Garden. He let it slip from his fingers and fall between the bars of his cell. 

For a second, something deep within her soul screamed at Rinoa to incinerate the envelope and its contents with a blast of Firaga magic. Instead, she flicked her wrist, and several papers—still adorned by the broken seal of Balamb Garden—slid from the envelope and flew to her hand. Her eyes slipped to the words scrawled in Cid Kramer's handwriting on the first page.

Seifer Almasy, Knight of the Sorceress Ultemecia, 

If you are reading these orders, then events foretold by the Fate have already begun and the time for you to make a final choice is at hand. This choice is yours alone to make. We cannot predict the future, but whether we can change the past remains to be seen.

On papers enclosed within these orders are sections of the genetic coding of the Sorceress Ultemecia discovered by Doctor Odine of Esthar. Two matches of her genetics were foundamong the millions of people who's DNA the doctor analyzed . Those matches are Squall Leonhart, SeeD of Balamb Garden and Rinoa Heartilly, Sorceress of Timber. 

The letter continued, but the paper had already torn in Rinoa's hands. "**Lies**!" She threw the shredded documents away as if they were on fire. "Lies!"

"No, sorceress. I would give anything to have never seen those documents, but even I cannot say they lie." An unreadable expression settled across Seifer's face. "So you see, Rinoa, it was I who stopped the SeeD sniper. I would have stopped the other rifleman had I been able." He turned away from her. Head bowed to his chest, Seifer hissed through clenched teeth. "I cannot allow any harm to befall the ancestors of my beloved." When he turned back, the corridor was empty.

…

Across the city below, the night was dying. Hours had passed since the interrupted knighting, and the streets had at last quieted. Despite the curfew in effect—martial law had been declared in Deling shortly after the assassination attempt—dark figures still skulked in unlit alleyways, conversing in hushed tones. Conversation ceased and the figures would melt into the shadows whenever a military patrol rumbled by, but once the arm of the Galbadian government had disappeared into the darkness, the whispers would start again. Even in the wee hours of the morning, tension lay over the city like an invisible fog.

From the high roof of the prison tower, Rinoa looked down over the twinkling lights of Deling's downtown district and to the sprawling residential sectors that lay beyond. _How many families out there will wake up and breakfast tomorrow with an empty seat at the table? How many parents have lost children to Ultemecia?_ A chill wind brushed strands of dark hair across her face. _How many people out there were drinking alone tonight? How many jokes went untold, how many witty phrases went unsaid? How many people lost friends to Ultemecia? _The loose stones on the roof crunched underfoot as Rinoa walked to the edge of the roof. _How many people wake up every hour from a wondrous memory, only to find themselves clutching at the pillows in their empty beds? How many poems will go unwritten, songs unsung, rings not given, sweet nothings not muttered, kisses unbestowed? How many people lost lovers to Ultemecia?_

The night wind dried the sorceress's tears before they could fall. _Is it really all my fault? Am I to blame for everything that has happened? Am I really the root of so much evil? _Even as the questions rose to the surface of her mind, Rinoa knew the answer. _Yes. I knew… even as we fought her… I knew there was something vaguely wrong—I could never put my finger on it, but now I know the truth. _She shivered against the coolness. _Is that why the SeeDs were sent to kill me—to kill Squall?_ The sorceress knew there could be no other explanation. _So even for that, I am responsible. _Rinoa wrapped her arms around herself, swaying slightly in the breeze. _Squall… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble, I'm sorry I caused you so much pain. I never meant for any of this to happen. _Rinoa took one step toward the edge of the building. _Why not? What have I left to live for? _The thought rang hollowly in her head. Rinoa's brow furrowed."Nothing." She whispered, and was surprised at how true the answer was. _Squall, you are the only one I have left. My friends have forsaken me. Zone, _Watts_, what would you say now if you found out that it was I that killed your parents?My family too are all dead—or as good as dead. _Rinoa bit her lip. _Father… I… I thought I hated you for a while, but I never would have wished anything like this on you. But again, it's my fault that it has happened to you. _Rinoa took another step toward the edge. _And I can't even be with you, Squall. The one thing that could make me happy—denied me by the terrible future. _

It was all beginning to make sense to Rinoa now. _How many people could I save with just one step? Just one little step, and the thousands who died in the Lunar Cry could live again. A brief moment of pain—it might not even hurt at all—and Trabia, Galbadia, and Balamb Gardens are all back to normal. _She sighed. _Squall, Just one short moment, and you're free. No longer bound to me, no longer forced to protect me, no longer in danger from being around me. _"I know, if you were here, you'd disagree, Squall, but…"_ But you're not here. You're in some strange trance that even **I** can't break, and it's all my fault._

Rinoa was now standing on the lip of the precipice. Before her lay nothing but open air. _Squall… I loved you. I wish I could have told you... _Rinoa shook her head slightly. _But I can't live like this. Once they find out, everyone will hate me. It will be a thousand times worse than when they found out I was a sorceress…_

_ _

_I'm so afraid of that._

Rinoa drew in a breath. "I'm sorry, Squall." The night wind whipped the words from her mouth and scattered them over the uncaring streets of the city. Closing her eyes, Rinoa stepped out into empty air...

…but instead of falling, the sorceress's motion was arrested by the strong pair of arms that wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her back from the ledge. Her heart in her throat, Rinoa allowed herself to be dragged away from the precipice. Emotions roiling, she felt thankful, elated, frightened, happy, disappointed, and sorrowful at the same time as she tilted her head up, whispering her savior's name. "Squall…"

"No." A shockingly icy voice replied.

Opening her eyes, Rinoa cried out as her gaze met Seifer's iron stare. Rinoa was, by no means, a girl of weak constitution. A childhood spent growing up among the rebel fighters of Timber had seen to that. Nor was she prone to swooning fits, she was—after all—quite possibly the most powerful sorceress in the world. However, the events of the past night—the knighting ceremony, the attempted assassination, the betrayal of her friends, the revelations by her enemies, and her attempted suicide—coupled with the shock of finding herself face-to-face with the man who had tried—on numerous occasions—to kill her, crashed down on Rinoa's consciousness, and she fainted.

Seifer let the sorceress fall, but was careful to prevent her from receiving any serious injury. As he took a step away from the unconscious sorceress, he heard a cry from behind. Seifer only just managed to draw his own weapon in time to block the slashing blue blade.

Squall did not understand what had happened. His memories were still hazy. One moment, he had been about to tell Rinoa something of great importance, the next, he found himself lying in the back of a government limousine parked in front of a tall building. As he had staggered out of the vehicle, aides—seeming to appear from thin air—did their best to give him no useful information. Only after resorting to threats of serious bodily harm, did Squall convince them to point him in the direction of his sorceress.

The elevator ride to the top floor—and the dash up the stairs to the roof—had allowed Squall to build up a proper head of anxiety as he emerged into the breezy darkness. 

He heard a familiar voice cry out. Squinting in the direction of Rinoa's shout, he watched in horror as her limp body slumped to the ground before a figure cloaked in dirty white, with fiery crosses adorning his shoulders. Before he knew what he was doing, Squall had covered the distance between Seifer and himself, his gunblade drawn back to strike. 

He must have shouted, for at the last moment, Seifer turned and raised his own weapon to block Squall's blow. Even so, the force of the slash had knocked Seifer's block away, leaving him open. With amazing speed, Squall drove his gunblade at Seifer's heart. Again, Seifer managed to divert the attack away from his body, though the effort drove him to the ground. As Seifer rolled away from the enraged knight, he cast Firaga between them. 

Squall dove through the flames as if they were made of tissue paper, pressing the attack as Seifer regained his feet. A red haze clouded his vision as he hacked viciously at Seifer. Squall allowed his hatred to consume him—so much better than thinking about what he had just seen. 

Seifer felt his grip on the gunblade weakening. Dropping to his knees, he raised the weapon over his head to block the blazing blue blade as Squall tried to split Seifer's skull. Though he held on with both hands, the force of the knight's blow nearly struck the weapon from his grasp. Sparks of molten metal—struck from Seifer's blade—scorched his upturned face and burned tiny holes in the shoulders of his cloak. Squall pivoted on his left foot, whirling his gunblade across his chest and ramming it at Seifer's kneeling form from under his right arm even as he turned his back on the former knight. It was all Seifer could do to drive the point of his own weapon into the ground, and hold on tightly as his blade deflected the blow. 

Squall pulled the Lionheart back. In the brief respite granted him, Seifer stood after being driven to the ground a third time, and brought Hyperion up into a defensive position, even as his numbed hands slipped on the gunblade's handle. A split-second later, his arms were jerked skyward as Squall swung his weapon up from his lower right side—attempting to slash Seifer from left hip to right shoulder. 

Hyperion was struck spinning from Seifer's hands as he fell away from the killing blow, the tip of the Lionheart whisking through his shirt. Seifer landed on his back, sliding on the loose gravel. Even as he raised his head, he saw Squall's blue blade poised to drive into his heart. _At last._

"Squall!" The tip of the weapon wavered at the cry. "Stop!" 

And suddenly, the knight was gone, Seifer was left lying on his back, facing the empty night sky. A moment later, he had retrieved his fallen blade. Limping from a twisted knee, sprained wrists tucked under his arms, he fled the rooftop.

She had almost let Seifer die. She had almost stood by and allowed her knight's blade to pierce his heart, almost let Squall have his revenge, almost let Seifer's secret die with him. But she could not. And the secret would not die—would not be forgotten—no matter how much she wished it could be.

He was running toward her. Then he was gathering her up in his arms, his face pressing into her hair, his words in her ear. "Rinoa… thank god… Rinoa…" She closed her eyes almost as tightly as he held her. "I thought Seifer had…" And he was trailing off. His eyes confused, he was receding from her, held in space, held in place by the invisible wall of her power. A strand of her dark hair still clinging to his cheek, his lips formed a silent question.

From within the ripples of the porthole, Rinoa's eyes opened. "I'm sorry, Squall. I'm so, so sorry."

One last cry. "Wait!" The rift in space closed over Squall's outstretched hand. For the briefest instant, he thought he felt the brush of his sorceress's lips on his fingers, then the force holding him disappeared, and he collapsed to the ground. One hand cradled near his heart—trying to hold onto the last sensation of his sorceress—Squall lay curled on the sharp gravel… _Why?_

[Chapter 7][1]

   [1]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/seven.htm



	7. Frustra Esse

**Chapter 7:**

** **

**Frustra Esse**

The yellow eyes stared, unblinking, at her from the darkness behind the cavern's entrance. As the venom coursed through her body, the numbing sensation falling over her mind slowly quieted the screaming panic she felt inside. Deprived of fear, her mind became sluggishly inquisitive. _What is it waiting for? _The eyes did not answer, they simply stared. A new thought occurred to her. _Where are they? They should be here by now… they said they'd come right back._

A shadow darkened the cave's entrance, and the glowing eyes disappeared. "Dahyte?" It was Samao. 

_Of all people… why is that jerk here? Where is… everybody else? _Somewhere deep inside—where the poison had not permeated, something inside her screamed at her to warn him. Idly, she tried to shout. Instead, only a quiet groan managed to pass her frozen lips. 

It got his attention. "Holy cow, Dahyte! You wouldn't believe it! We were all headed down to the supply camp when Taran spotted this monster Anacondaur headed up the mountain!" In the dimness, he didn't recognize the glazed look in her eyes, nor did he notice how her jaw hung slack. She had fallen against the wall of the cavern, in an almost-natural sitting position, hiding the two bloody puncture wounds on her back from Samo. "All the others weren't going to come back. They were too scared." The fourteen-year-old cadet puffed out his chest proudly. "I was the only one who came back for you."

Finally, Samo's words pierced the haze on which her mind floated. _The others weren't coming back for you. I was the only one. _She did her very best to scream. Nothing emerged but a quiet sob.

His eyes adjusting to the darkness within the cave, Samo—at last—noticed the awkward angle at which her right arm was twisted. _How could bones do that without breaking…_ White rims shone around the cadet's dilated pupils as he took in the broken antivenom hypodermic needle. "Dahyte? Are you a—"

The giant snake chose that instant to strike. There was a blur of motion, a flash green coils as thick around as tree trunks, and Samo was gone. If she could have, Dahyte would have blinked at the blaze of Samo's Fire magic. Illuminated by the flames, the coils jerked as they tightened on the beast's new prey. The frilled head darted downward, striking at the boy as he was crushed by the monster's powerful body. Faster than the eye could follow, the Anacondaur uncoiled, flinging Samo's limp body across the cavern. Broken limbs flopping bonelessly, his motion was arrested by the wall against which she leaned, his right arm actually touching her left leg. The yellow eyes took up residence in the shadows once again.

Anacondaurs are picky eaters. Unlike their smaller cousins, they refuse to eat live animals, preferring to wait until their paralyzing venom eventually stops the beating of their victim's hearts before beginning their meal. This particular Anacondaur was no exception. As it waited, it stared pitilessly at the labored breathing of its two victims—watching the rise and fall of their chests—waiting for it to cease.

Incredibly, Samo was still alive, but his gurgling breaths were not what interested her—instead, her eyes were fixed upon the medical pack attached to his waist—only inches from her left hand. Rallying from the poison-induced lethargy, she willed her left hand to dig into that bag with all her might. Nothing. She tried again, beads of perspiration breaking out across her forehead with the effort of her concentration. Still no response from her paralyzed muscles. _They're not coming back. I was the only one... _She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. They had grown up together. _I was the only one who came back…._ They had lived together, studied together, trained together. _The only one who came back for you._ Taran, Gabrielle, Inita, Des; they had fought together, bled together. 

It wanted to start as a whimper, but the time for that was long past. Instead, the thing became a groan, then a cry, then a shout, then a scream of pain, sadness, rage, and betrayal. If only it could have passed her lips. Instead, her chest shook with the power of the thing. _They're not coming back… for you._ Her left index finger twitched. 

The snake had not moved a muscle. It had made no sign that it saw her force her hand into the medical pack. No recognition crept into those cold, reptilian, eyes as she had flipped the cap off of Samo's antivenom hypodermic. The monster remained quiet as she used the last of her strength to push the plunger all the way in, sending the serum flowing through her veins. Her head had rolled back then, and she had lain—needle still sticking from the side of her thigh—quiet while the haze cleared from her mind, silent while screeching pain had assailed her restored muscles.

Only when she staggered—at last—to her feet, did the monster move. Seeing the flicker of motion from the shadows, she fell back into empty air, booted foot lashing out against the impossible strength she knew would pursue her. Her blow hit nothing. Rolling to her feet—expecting the killing blow at any time—she raised her empty fists. The snake stared at her as it gently wound its coils around Samo's limp form. Its forked tongue appeared as it tasted the approaching death in the air. 

And she knew, she knew what the serpent was telling her. Even without speaking, she knew that she was free to go—as long as she left the Anacondaur its prize, as long as she left Samo alone with the monster. 

Without thinking, without feeling, with only her black heart to guide her, she took one step back toward the cave's entrance. The Anacondaur blinked once, acknowledging her decision.

_I was the only one who came back for you._ "No!" She screamed suddenly, not thinking to pick up her fallen weapon, only throwing herself at the beast. But it was too late, the choice had been made.

The blow from the serpent's tail knocked her clear of the cave's entrance. She fell, tumbling and rolling uncontrollably down the slope of loose stone and dirt. Then she ran. She ran through the light scrub, through the forest, through the fields. She ran from the screaming terror of the monster, she ran from the bone-crunching strength and paralyzing venom. But mostly, she ran from the words. _I was the only one who came back for you._ From only one of things she fled, there was no escape.

The rest was a jumbled mess of damnation.

"What happened up there?"

"We can't go back for him!" 

"He's already dead!" 

The faces of her friends turned away from her, they were replaced by the frightened masks of her enemies.

"If you're so brave, why don't you go back?"

"Yes, Dahyte, you go back!"

"No!" She screamed. "No! I can't!" 

He stood alone, bewildered, in the darkness before her. "I came back for you." 

"I can't go back!!" She tried to cover her eyes, but something held her arms down to her sides.

"I was the only one…" His form was changing, golden-eyed shadows scurried around it, swallowing his legs, his waist, his chest. Long, black, serpentine shadows. "Who came back for you?"

The thing holding her arms down, she could see it now—it was a rifle. It was pointed at the writhing form in front of her.

"Who came back for you!?" Samo's head demanded. His coiled body quivered in anticipation of the strike.

"No one!!" Dahyte screamed as she pulled the trigger. The weapon in her hands clicked on an empty chamber as the heavy coils whipped around her. Her body was shaken in their tight grasp.

"Wake up!" The serpent hissed into her ear as it shook her. "Wake up!!"

"No one!!" Dahyte gasped as her eyes snapped open. Automatically, her hand grasped for her sidearm. It was gone. So were another holdout pistol and a dagger that was always strapped to her right thigh. Her unsuccessful weapons check completed, Dahyte's brain at last registered the signals her eyes had been sending. As gravity untangled the last sheet that had been wrapped around her body, she noted the dull brown walls, dusty floor, and packed dirt floor. She also took in the quivering form of the old woman—now crouched against the far wall. 

"You wouldn't wake up." The crone hissed. "You were shouting something, and you wouldn't wake up."

The frightened girl of the dream was gone. Dahyte was back in control. It was probably a good thing she was unarmed, Dahyte reflected, as she likely would have killed the old woman in her surprise. She shook her head. That would be unfortunate, as the wrinkled old sorceress had proven quite useful so far—first releasing her from her prison cell, then arranging for transportation to Timber. Old and feeble as she looked, this woman obviously had powerful connections within the Galbadian government—as well as powerful magic. 

"I was scared." The hunched sorceress looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do."

Dahyte frowned slightly. The woman's childish way of speaking and thinking were beginning to annoy her, however. The sniper wondered if the old sorceress's mental powers might be weakening under the obvious weight of her many, many years. "How long before our meeting with the president?" Of course, Dahyte already knew they had four hours and fifty-five minutes left before they were to meet with Ferrin—newly elected president of the Independent Republic of Timber. She simply hoped the query would satisfy the sorceress of her sanity, and cause her to return to bed.

"Um… about five hours." The old woman's voice was hesitant. 

Apparently, the rest of the SeeD team had been captured, and now were being banished from Galbadia. The president of the IRT—pronounced 'urt'—wanted to be present at their release. She also wanted to be present for the SeeDs' reunion. _They should have killed them. They should have killed us all._ Dahyte almost shook her head. _This is not going to be pretty._

"Uh… are you going to be okay? Will you go back to sleep?" Obviously uncomfortable in the presence of the sniper, the sorceress began to edge toward the door of the small room in the dusty underground bunker offered them by the IRT government.

Dahyte's lips twisted a fraction of an inch deeper into the slight frown by way of reply. She still couldn't shake the feeling that this woman was not who she seemed. Her querulous attitude, her hesitant voice, these things bespoke of an inexperienced consciousness trapped in the old crone's body. Or perhaps it was simply evidence of her senility. With the slightest of sighs, Dahyte lay back on the tangled bedding. 

The mother had been hysterical. It had been a horrible idea to see the bereaved parents of the dead student. 

They had come for the body, they had come for the SeeD burial ceremony, they had come for closure. But the mother had not been ready for any of it. But in all her wailing, in all her crying, she never accused, never blamed, never pointed a single finger at Dahyte. She didn't need to.

After the burial—Dahyte had been volunteered by the doctor to stand in the honor guard of students and SeeDs; "It will help her cope with what happened." _If only she had known the truth..._ she could not refuse—but after the brief ceremony the father had spoken to her. 

He was much more composed than the mother. Retired from the Galbadian Armed Forces himself—"the experience will be good for him, dear, make a man out of him."—he knew the ways of such things. It was still killing him. 

"You were there with him, then?" The father had asked her.

Dahyte could only nod, silently. 

The father had looked away—hiding the tears behind his gaze, but not those behind his words. "It's good. It's good that he was with his friends when… when…"

She had wanted to scream. _He wasn't! He wasn't, you idiot! I hated him, we all hated him! Why did you do it?! Why did you send Samo here!? _Instead, Dahyte had simply closed her eyes and nodded again. _He wasn't like **us**. He wasn't like **them**. Compassionate, awkward, outcast, weak, frightened but so-damn-brave Samo. He didn't belong with **us**, but he tried harder than any of us and I hated him for that. I hate him now!_

"He wrote to us, you know. He wrote about you." The father had continued, ignorant of his own mercilessness. "He told us you were his friend…" He had drawn a shuddering breath. "It's good that when… when it happened… he was doing what was right. Helping his friend."

Dahyte had choked on her own self-loathing even as the thoughts raced through her mind. _He wasn't! I wasn't his friend! Just because I didn't shit on him like all the others… Damn you, Samo! And Damn you, Sir, for sending him here! He wasn't doing the right thing, he didn't die for some cause. It was pure stupidity. He should never have come back, he wasn't prepared… The others, they made the right choice._ She prayed the father would mistake the noise she made for a sob.__

He did, and he left her. 

__

But it had not ended there, oh no. There was an inquiry. She had been—after all—squad leader of the level two-survival skills exam group. She had been responsible for every member of the team, she was responsible for their actions.

Afraid for their own careers, they had turned on her. Oh, they had been supporting in their testimony, they had endorsed her decisions one hundred percent. But they had all lied.

"Dahyte did the right thing."

"There was no way even all of us combined could have fought that monster." 

"We all agreed with her decision to fall back and go for help."

But it had not been her decision. The second they had seen her burst from the bushes near the riverbank—heading for the raft, already loaded and prepared to flee—she had lost control of the group. _Or did they never believe in me to begin with? _Maybe the decision to run had been the right one—but it had not been **hers**. 

The worst part had been Headmaster's understanding. Of course he understood how frightening the situation had been. He knew that a SeeD had to fall back on their analytical tactical analysis of the situation, and she had done everything right by the book. But, he had told her in private conference—as if the others did not know what he was going to say, there were certain expectations made of SeeD leaders. 

Dahyte had nodded numbly through all of it. Of course SeeDs had to hold together, no matter how desperate the situation became. Naturally, she understood the principle of the thing but I wonder if you really can practice it out in the field… 

Before she knew what was happening, Dahyte found herself facing transfer out of the officer corps and into a specialist position. "But only if that's what you really want, Dahyte. I think it might be best for you…"

She never spoke in her own defense, she never told the truth of what happened. Not even to the Headmaster. She had been too ashamed. 

And then there was the offer. Maybe she should. She could not lead, she had lost control, she had lost a team member to her own cowardice…

Dahyte had been sitting in the dimmest corner of the auditorium in the middle of the night, staring blankly at the transfer papers in front of her, when she had felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It was Desmond. His kind eyes bespoke years of sorrow and repentance. "Dahyte… uh, we, well, we've all got something we want… I mean, some things need to be said." He had looked down at his feet. "Um… I guess we're all meeting in the garage in a few minutes. The others…" His eyes had shyly met her gaze, then darted away. "…and me, we… we sort of hoped you might come." And he was gone. 

So she had left the papers lying there, unsigned, and gone to meet her friends. Hoping, wishing, for she knew not what. The oil-and-gasoline smell of the garage's semidarkness had tickled her senses as she saw the form of her friend, standing alone in the shaft of light that fell from the open hallway door. "Taran? Where are the others?" Her betrayer looked up at the words.

She never saw Gabrielle or Inita as they sprang from the darkness at her sides. Nor did she see Des slam the door behind her. 

They beat her. Badly.

Through the pummeling fists and kicking boots, she heard their hissing voices as they circled, repeating the lie. Saying it again and again, until it became a sort of mantra. It was **your **decision, Dahyte. Your decision. Your decision. 

"Say it!" 

And through the blood and the tears, she had at last repeated the lie for them. Choking it out over the coppery warmth that flowed from her split lips. 

When the swelling had receded and she could see again, she had signed the transfer papers. No one ever asked any questions about her injuries, no one ever said anything about that night. Her peers had judged her—even the doctors understood that this was the way of Galbadia Garden.

She had found her specialty at Balamb Garden. In the one training initiative spearheaded by NORG himself—rather than Cid—Dahyte had found her profession. No teams, no chance of betrayal. Only her orders and her tools. 

As she lay on the cooling sheets, staring at the ceiling, Dahyte's hands ached for the familiar feel of those same tools. Her eyes rarely blinked as she rested. _They are gone, but they can be replaced. And I still have my orders…_

_ _

…

"What do you mean, they're no longer in Galbadia?" Even as he said it, Squall's mind was still reeling with the impact of the information he had received almost immediately after entering the Chief Executive Office. He had awakened less than ten minutes ago, alone in the master bedroom of the Presidential Residence. Nine minutes ago, he had been dressed and already heading toward the executive office wing. Five minutes ago he had won the hallway shouting match with the doctors, who insisted he was still physically and mentally exhausted and needed more rest; by firing all five of them. Two minutes ago, the Chief Executive Office Secretary—his secretary now that the two other members of the executive triad had gone missing—had acknowledged his order to find someone who could tell him 'just what the hell was going on.' "I didn't even know they were here to begin with!" 

"Sir, you were, indisposed at the time of their capture, so of course you wouldn't have known they were being held at the Tower…" The deputy to the Commander of Internal Affairs spread his hands placatingly as he spoke.

_What the hell were they doing here in Deling? _Squall gritted his teeth. "Still, someone should have notified me when I was at the tower." _Why would Cid send a SeeD team to Galbadia directly after signing the Dollett Accord? What could be so important that he felt he had to break the Garden's commitments?_

"From what I gather, Sir, the aides present did not have time to present you with a full briefing." The deputy commander was choosing his words carefully—perhaps already warned of Squall's mood by the now-unemployed Presidential Medical Staff. 

_Damn it, headmaster! Didn't you know how bad this would look? Don't you realize how hard it will be for me to cover for you? _A tiny thread of doubt crept into Squall's mind. _Or did you just not care? _Squall shook his head—partially at his own thoughts, partially for the benefit of the man standing before the Executive of Galb—his… his desk. "Okay. So brief me now." 

The man relaxed visibly. "From what evidence we could gather—though, before she left, the sorceress would not allow a full interrogation of the prisoners…"

The man's businesslike tone of voice almost smoothed over the significance of his words. Squall almost nodded absently, he almost motioned for the deputy to continue. Then it hit him. _she left_ Squall felt something tighten within him. His fingers dug into the leather-cushioned armrests of the chair in which he sat. His chest locked, and he could not draw breath. _She left._

Oblivious to the change that had come over the Knight of Galbadia, the man continued. "…we have determined that the SeeDs were sent here to assassinate both you, and the sorceress Rinoa."

_She left. _From deep within him, he felt the stirrings of the beast he had kept chained within his heart for the past twelve years. _She left._ The words burned into his soul, weakening the walls of denial and self control that ringed the deep hole carved into his being. The hole where he had—as a child—cast the monster down, down into the dark, emotionless depths. _She left._ The howl of the thing resonated through his entire being as it drove it's frozen iron claws into the walls of its prison, and began to lift itself from the haze of forgetfulness. _No! _Where—as a child—he would have taken a deep breath, thrown his shoulders back, and assured himself that he would be okay without her, Squall's hands now shook with the effort of driving the nails of lies into the lid of the beast's tomb. _I can't deal with this now… There are important things I have to do… I can wait just a little longer…_

Face pale, Squall raised his head and forced the quivering in his arms to subside. The deputy was staring at him. The man had said something, something important. Squall was supposed to reply. 

"I know, Sir. It infuriates us all that those vile SeeDs would renege on their honor so soon, but the facts are clear." The deputy commander did his best to put on a patronizingly commiserating expression.

"What?" _WHAT?!! _"The SeeDs…" _…were sent to kill us?!_ Granted a momentary reprieve from the monster, Squall made an effort not to shake his head and laugh in the man's face. _No, no. There's some other explanation. Damn, I wish I had a chance to talk to them… _Squall grimaced. _But what could I say? Any one of them could have been possessed… I couldn't risk giving our only advantage away. _His heart twinged; 'our'. _…is that why Ri—she sent them away? Or… could it be… could it have actually been… Could the headmaster have been possessed? Could he have ordered them to do what everyone is convinced they did? No. They would never do it. They would never shoot me. They would never turn on Rinoa. _And her name had slipped out. And the lid burst, the beast was free. Squall doubled over with the pain of it, a clenched fist slammingdown on the desk before him.

The Deputy Commander of Internal Affairs jumped forward, a concerned expression on his face. "Sir? Sir, are you alright?" His hands stopped, inches from actually touching the knight. "Do you want me to get a doctor?"

"No… no doctors!" Experience had taught Squall that there were no physical remedies to his condition. There was only one solution. Even as the pain of separation wracked his body, he saw the answer shining clearly ahead of him. "Tell the secretary…" Squall gasped. "…tell her to get me Delphi Matchgar."

By the time the head of the Galbadian Secret Service arrived, the beast no longer raged. Instead, it bared its rusted fangs in a smile of contentment. Its spiked claws lodged firmly in Squalls heart, its serpentine tail coiled tightly around his soul, the monster growled contentedly, and narrowed Squall's eyelids as it looked out at the man before him. 

"Sir." Delphi wore an inscrutable expression.

"Find her for me, Mr. Matchgar." Said a voice quite similar to Squall's. "Find her now."

Filtered by layer upon layer of carefully regulated persona, Delphi's malicious smile appeared on his face as only the most unnoticeable twitch of his lip. "I have your permission then, to…" He trailed off, letting the Knight of Galbadia say it himself.

"Use any means necessary. Use unnecessary means. Find her." The monster purred. "I'm mobilizing the army reserves. Use them. Use every single employee of this government. Use all the resources at your disposal. Find her."

This time Delphi did smile. _I so missed the old days of Vinzer's reign. Not anymore. _"Yes, Sir. I understand." He paused before adding. "All the citizens of Galbadia are worried about the sorceress's disappearance." _Those that aren't, will be, very soon. I promise you that. _"No one will feel safe until she is found."

Before Squall—crushed beneath the talons of the monster—could wonder just what he meant by that, Delphi Matchgar saluted him briefly, and stepped lightly out of the room.

…

Through a crack in the blacktop, one of the last dandelions of summer poked its yellow starburst of a bloom. Around it, the tar holding the crushed stone pavement together was softened by the warmth of the sun of this late indian-summer day. A stumbling boot, scuffing along the gummy pavement, flattened the weed. Seconds later, a second booted foot—moving with purposeful authority—ground the dandelion's head into the black surface of the road. 

Up and down the line of sandbags and barbed wire, soldiers of the Timber Armed Forces tightened their collective grips on their weapons as the Galbadian soldiers emerged from the rear hatch of the armored truck, pushing the prisoners before them. Behind the truck, the soldiers manning the Galbadian border checkpoint likewise tensed. The long barrels of the main guns of two Galbadian tanks traversed on their hydraulic mounts until they were brought to bear on the nearest of four TAF Armored Personnel Carriers. Gunners in the cupolas of the APCs placed their hands on the safeties of their heavy caliber machine guns. 

Hardly anyone dared blink as the four prisoners were pushed, stumbling, halfway out between the two border checkpoints. One of the two soldiers guarding each prisoner bent down and released the shackles binding their arms. The others kept their rifles trained on the prisoner's heads as, one-by-one, they removed their own blindfolds and stood blinking in the hot sunlight. 

The Galbadians backed away from their released charges, and four TAF infantrymen jogged toward the four SeeDs, rifles held at the ready.

Seeing Zell tense at the approach of the armed soldiers, Quistis spoke quickly. "Relax, SeeDs." The soldiers dropped to one knee five feet from the SeeDs and raised their weapons to their shoulders, tracking the withdrawal of the Galbadians. One of them motioned, with a free hand, for the SeeDs to move toward the sandbagged fortifications of the Timber border checkpoint. "Let's go." Quistis started forward, indicating that the rest of her team should follow.

The four SeeDs made it across the border without incident, but only after they had been spirited away by a waiting jeep did the soldiers on both sides of the crossing allow themselves to relax. Even then, all down the line of hastily erected guard towers, barbed wire fencing, and fresh minefields that marked the border between Galbadia and Timber, tired but wary eyes remained fixed on the Galbadian armor and troops that had been steadily building in number over the past weeks.

The SeeDs were taken to a camouflaged earthen bunker that served as a forward command post. As they descended the packed dirt stairs, Quistis noted the grim looks on the faces of the soldiers present. In the air hung a general sense of foreboding. The quiet conversations whispered between haggard-looking infantrymen carried the tones of those resigned to a future where all was uncertain—except for the expectation of combat.

Ducking under a heavy wooden support beam, Quistis immediately found herself engulfed in an encompassing embrace from none other than the President of Timber herself—Ferrin, formerly the leader of the Forrest Foxes. "Welcome! Welcome! All of you!" A happy—if somewhat craggy—smile split the old fighter's features. "We all feared the worst when we heard that you had been captured." She said, addressing the group. "What with the attack on the Garden and the tensions across our borders—"

Zell interrupted her. "You have news about the attack on Balamb Garden?" The SeeD's face wore an uncharacteristic expression of concern. "You know who got out?"

Despite the interjection, Ferrin didn't miss a beat. "Well, we picked up the radio transmissions from the garden's transports." She raised her hands, palms outward. "They weren't in direct contact with us, so we don't know all the details." She tilted her head to the side slightly. "I thought they'd have contacted you about it. I thought that was why…" She trailed off diplomatically.

"Before the satellite blackout, we were informed that the Garden was destroyed. That only two transports made it out." Irvine spoke quietly.

From the corner of her eye, Quistis saw Zell's hand drift unconsciously to his wrist. But of course—like their weapons—all their personal items had been confiscated by the Galbadians. 

Ferrin's eyebrows shot up in an expression of genuine surprise. "Really? How can that be? In the radio traffic we picked up, there were at least ten active transmitters, probably more that we couldn't hear." Her brow creased. "We all assumed most of the students and SeeDs escaped." She paused for just a moment, then continued. "And the garden was most definitely **not** destroyed. We're still getting radio traffic from the Galbadians in Balamb—it sounds like they're repairing Balamb Garden's battle damage. We think they are planning to move it back to Galbadia to use like they did with G-Garden."

"I knew this whole thing was rotten from the start!" Unable to contain himself any longer, Zell blurted. "Enough of this undercover crap, we gotta go find Squall and tell him what's going on!" 

"I would advise against that." Said an icy voice from the shadows of a tunnel leading deeper into the bunker. 

A cold shock running down her spine, Quistis turned to face her attempted murderer. The sight of those dead gray eyes in her expressionless face froze the SeeD in place. An exclamation died on her lips as the sight of the sniper robbed her of speech. 

Zell, Irvine, and Selphie—on the other hand—experienced no such problems. "Dahyte!" they shouted in unison. 

Still, absolutely frigid, the sniper responded. "The same." 

Irvine and Selphie stood rooted in place. Zell, however, already had his fists up. Bobbing slightly on the balls of his feet. He advanced menacingly on the SeeD specialist. "You… you…" At a loss for words, Zell instead seemed ready to compensate for his lack of loquaciousness with an abundance of action.

Ferrin interposed herself between the two SeeDs before he could. "Young man, I will not tolerate fighting in here." The elderly woman stepped nose-to-nose with the upset SeeD. 

Though he took a step backward, Zell refused to allow himself to be stared down. "But… but, she—" 

Ferrin cut him off with a chopping motion of her hand. "It doesn't make any difference now. What's done is done. I know most of what happened in Deling City, and I understand why your upset," Zell took a second step back, and Ferrin made the most of the opportunity, keeping herself directly in front of the SeeD—not giving him a chance to look at the sniper. "but you are all still alive. Squall and Rinoa are still alive, and fighting amongst yourselves over what might have been won't do anyone any good."

Quistis wondered—from the way she talked—if Ferrin really knew the whole story, but she found herself nodding along with the President's logic. Distracted from the memory of the eyes behind the gun that night, Quistis was able to speak once more. "She's right, Zell. Everybody's okay, so there's no need to fight." She wondered if the words sounded as unconvincing to the martial artist as they did to her.

Turning to Quistis with an incredulous look, Zell opened his mouth to speak, but was cut-off by a quavering voice. "Uh… excuse me." From behind Dahyte, a wrinkled old woman peered—no, that wasn't right, Quistis thought—peeped, peeped timorously. "Um… I know this is a bad time, uh, for this." She glanced around timidly as she took a hesitant step forward. "But, before you guys do anything, there's some stuff I need to tell you."

"Who are you?" Realizing that Quistis probably could use help distracting Zell from a fight, Selphie addressed the old woman.

Before she could reply, a shadow darkened the steps leading to the outside. As the breathless soldier all but threw herself down into the confines of the bunker, Irvine and Quistis had to dodge out of the way to avoid being knocked down as the soldier—spotting Ferrin—dashed over to the President of Timber. The SeeDs and old woman looked on as the soldier and President held a hurried and hushed conference. 

At length, Ferrin turned to the assembled SeeDs. "I'm terribly sorry, my dears, but besides being President, it seems I've just become Commander-in-Chief of Timber's armed forces." She kept her tone deliberately light, but the expression on her face was one of infinite sadness tinged with weariness. "The Galbadians just bombed Timber City. Again." She sighed. "Those were dear friends…" 

Shaking herself slightly, Quistis spoke. "Galbadia isn't honoring its treaties." It was not a question.

Ferrin shook her head sadly. "It looks like they've already invaded. We've lost contact with a string of border observation posts about seventy miles north of here." She regarded the SeeDs. "I have to go. Can I trust you children not to fight while I'm gone?" 

Seeing the old revolutionary staring pointedly at him, Zell lowered his head and mumbled assent.

Ferrin nodded her approval. "Good." She started across the dirty boards laid into the soil covering the floor, then stopped and turned to the SeeDs once more. "I don't know what's happening in Deling. I don't know what has happened to Squall or Rinoa." She paused. "But I do know that we can't hold out here long, if the Galbadian's are serious about taking Timber back. I'm not sure if anyone in the world has the ability to stand up to them anymore. You all need to go, find out what's happening, and find a way to stop them." With that, she turned and left.

"Quistis, I think we" Irvine waved his arm, indicating himself, Selphie, and Zell. "need to have a private conference."

Quistis nodded and was just about to concur vocally, when the hesitant voice spoke up again.

"Oh please, please, I have something really important that all of you need to know." The old woman stepped forward, positioning herself between the four friends and the SeeD sniper. "I… I think you'll all want to hear it." She added, hesitantly, as all turned to face her.

"Who **are** you?" Selphie repeated.

The woman paused just for a moment, then said. "I am Rachel Dianne Young." She took a fortifying breath and continued. "I am a fourth level sorceress," Everyone blinked. "I am responsible for the way Rinoa acted during her induction ceremony," Zell's mouth hit the floor. "I am a white SeeD," Selphie's and Quistis's reactions were similar to Zell's. Irvine's eyebrows shot up. "and I am from the future." She finished. The corner of Dahyte's mouth twitched.

The silence lasted for a full two-and-one-half-seconds before the room exploded.

"Whadaya mean **you're **the one responsible for the way Rinoa acted?!" Zell shouted.

"You're a **SeeD?**!" Selphie and Irvine exclaimed in unison.

"You're a **sorceress**?!" Quistis took one step backward.

_The future? More likely she's from the funny farm._ Dahyte's mouth returned to it's normal tight almost lipless line as she filed away the sorceress's remarks.

Ducking her head and raising her arms as if the shouting was a physical assault she must ward off, the sorceress Rachel cried. "Please, please! Let me explain!"

Looking none too happy about it, the four SeeDs quieted. 

"Ok, Ms Young. Explain yourself." Quistis said.

At the SeeDs urging, the elderly sorceress did just that. "I… I really don't know where to begin…" she began. "There's so much I could tell you, but I'm not sure if you should hear all of it. I'm not sure what will happen if I tell you everything." She paused. When no one spoke, she took a breath and continued. "I guess it's safe to start out with what you already know. You all were in my time not too _long_ ago. I watched the video feeds from the hidden probes that survived Ultemecia's counterattack against our forces. I saw all of you enter her castle."

"You mean the floating castle that was anchored at the orphanage in Centra?" Irvine queried.

"Yes. I was twenty miles offshore in one of our landing craft when you appeared. We were waiting to begin the second wave of our attack. You…" She looked down, and her voice became a shivering whisper. "You saw what happened to the first wave." She shuddered, then continued. "We didn't know where you had come from or who you were, but after you entered the castle, the cameras picked up the flashes of magical discharges coming from within. We knew you must have been fighting Ultemecia and her monsters so we landed the second attack ahead of schedule, but by the time we reached the master chamber, you, Ultemecia, and all the monsters were gone. We couldn't believe it. How could just six people defeat a foe that had slaughtered our… our greatest fighters without the slightest effort? But then there was a slip, and suddenly those of us who survived it knew."

Quistis's brow furrowed. "A slip? What is that?"

The old woman shuddered. "Terrible, that's what it is… just terrible." She seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment. Visibly shaking herself out of the trance, she continued. "Sorry… a slip… a slip is what we call it when someone disturbs the past enough so that our future cannot exist. It happens when something in Ultemecia's time compression causes a paradox." She blinked. "I guess… I mean, what the people on Academy told us happens; the time stream tries to straighten out the kinks caused by the paradox. A few minutes _up_ the stream, just little changes occur… but years in the future, things, animals," Rachel seemed to deflate as her head bent toward the ground. "…people disappear." Again, silence fell as the sorceress stopped speaking. When she continued, her voice was that of a ghost. "Those who remain… we _know_ things. We know things we didn't know before, and we… we know we didn't know… before."

Zell frowned slightly, the scowl that had developed on his face broke long enough for him to scratch his head.

"After the last slip, we all _knew _who you were. We knew how you had saved the past from Ultemecia's time compression. We knew it like it had been taught to us in our history classes—because it had been."

"That's all great, but you still haven't told us what you meant by saying you're responsible for what Rinoa said." Zell interjected.

"I'm coming to that." The sorceress sighed. "Along with what we knew about you, we knew about what is happening now. We… we know that Squall and Rinoa are the parents of Ultemecia. We know that Odine built the machine that Ultemecia used to travel back in time to try and achieve time compression. And we know… know the focal points in time where it is possible to come back and prevent her from destroying our past—your future."

"What do you mean 'prevent'—w-wait a minute! Did you say Squall and Rinoa are the **parents **of Ultemecia?!!" Zell was shouting again.

Strangely enough, Rachel was not cowed by the SeeDs excitement. "Yes. Ultemecia is the child of the sorceress Rinoa Loi—well now, Rinoa Heartilly—and her knight, Squall Leonhart."

"So where do you fit in to all this?" Selphie's brow furrowed.

The old sorceress standing before the SeeDs exhaled a long breath. "I was sent here to prevent Ultemecia from coming to power. There were three focal points in history where we identified that this might be possible."

"And the first was during Squall's knighting." Irvine stated.

The sorceress nodded resignedly. "Yes." She sagged visibly. "So you can probably guess who was behind those things Rinoa said during the parade ceremony."

"You were setting us up? **You** were fucking setting us up?!! Why you…" Zell advanced on the sorceress.

"Zell! Back off!!" Quistis barked.

The incensed SeeD rounded on her. "Come **on** Quis! She tried to get us to kill Squall and Rinoa!!" He turned back to the sorceress. "She probably even ordered the attack on the Garden! She's probably the one responsible for Galbadia invading Timber!" 

The old woman shook her head violently. When she looked up, Quistis was shocked to see tears glinting in her pleading eyes. "No! No! Please, I didn't do all that! I would never go against SeeD! It was all documented in our history after the slip! That's why the knighting ceremony was a focal point! After that, history tells us that Galbadia—led by Squall and Rinoa—became incredibly aggressive and powerful."

"Bullshit!" Zell stamped his foot in disgust. "Bullshit! I don't believe a word you say! You've been manipulating us from the start, and I'm not going to go along with any more of it!" He whirled and stomped toward the exit. "Come on, SeeDs! Let's go find Squall." 

"Zell, wait!" Quistis placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Let's at least hear her out. If we already know she's lying, then what harm could it do?" 

Zell regarded Quistis with an incredulous look. "Holy shit! You actually **believe **her?! Quis, we should kill her before she causes any more trouble! Why can't you see that everything she says is a lie?!" 

"I know it's hard to believe her, Zell, but we have to consider the fact that—" 

Zell snapped, yanking his arm out of the SeeD's grasp. "Fuck you, Quistis Trepe!" His finger shook with rage as he pointed it at Rachel. "If you're so blind that you can't see what she's doing to us, then fuck you all!" He spat the words like bullets. "I'm not going to go along with any more of this shit! I still know what it means to be a friend, and I'm not going to sit around and listen to her lie about my friends! I'm outta here, and if any one of you doesn't come with me, then to hell with you!!" With that, Zell stormed out of the bunker.

The rest of the SeeDs stood in stunned silence. Irvine cast a long glance at the doorway, but stayed put. Against the wall to which she had retreated, Rachel hung her head and cried quietly. Only Dahyte stood cool, impassive. 

"I'm sorry." Rachel gasped through her tears. "Oh, god, I'm messing this all up! It wasn't supposed to be like this… I don't know…" 

As the wizened old sorceress cried, Irvine and Selphie looked at each other, shuffling their feet awkwardly, but remaining silent. 

Acting on impulse, Quistis stepped forward and placed a hand on the sorceress's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. He's always like that. I'm sure he didn't mean it, he'll be back." Quistis was not sure of any such thing, but she could think of nothing else to say.

"No… no. That's not it. That's not it at all." Rachel looked up, trying unsuccessfully to dry her face with a sleeve of her dress. "I shouldn't even be here. Things… this situation should have been fixed already." She sniffed loudly, then continued. "I'm just the backup. Bor was supposed to fix everything." 

Stepping back now that the sorceress was coherent once more, Quistis spoke. "What do you mean?"

"Me… me and Borland were the only two level four sorceresses young enough to make the trip back to your time. But he was almost a level five, so they sent him to the primary focal point." The sorceress said.

"Which was?" Quistis prompted.

"Oh, sorry." Rachel's voice grew quieter. "Bor was supposed to kill Doctor Odine. He went a few days farther back than I did… so that I wouldn't complete my mission if he completed his." 

"Kill Odine?" Selphie exclaimed. "But that would… And, and how would you know if he completed his mission or not? Are you in contact with him?"

Rachel's voice was back to an old lady's whisper now. "I know… I know because if Bor had been successful, there would have been another slip and I… I would have disappeared." For a moment, it seemed the sorceress was about to break down crying again, but instead she began speaking very quickly. "If either of us had completed their missions, we would have both disappeared. The people aboard Academy said that there's no other way the timestream could resolve the paradox." The words tumbled out in a rush. "They said it was the only way, because we can't get back to the future—our bodies wouldn't be young enough to survive the process a second time. So it's not really like we're killing each other." Her eyes pleaded with the SeeDs to believe her. "Really, it's for the best; we're helping each other, we have to be, because… because…" Her eyes fell to the floor once more. "…because Bor is my best friend." The sorceress seemed to choke slightly as something stuck in her throat. "But if I'm still here… he must be dead."

Quistis tried to keep the old woman talking. "What do you mean, you can't go back?"

Rachel looked up at the SeeD squad leader. "Well, when we use the time travel magic, we can always jump back to our original time, even if we don't have any spells left, it's just that… well, the spells take something out of your body when you go. They speed up your—what the people on Academy call your—'lifeclock'. When that happens, you age… a lot. It kind of depends on how far in time you go, but the farther you jump, the more you age." She turned her head to the side. "We jumped about fo—oh!" The old woman's arms wrapped around her frail body. "Oh no! I almost…" She shook her head violently. "I don't know! I just don't know! They said I shouldn't talk to you too much, or I might cause a slip that doesn't fix anything. And if I disappear before I complete my mission… all my friends, everybody in the future will die!" She pressed her vein-lined hands to her temples.

Again, Quistis placed a hand on the sorceress's shoulder. She spoke in a soft voice. "Rachel, how old were you when you came back into our time?"

"I am… I was…. I was twelve years old when I made the jump." She dropped her hands from her temples and held them in front of her face. As if noticing for the first time, she shuddered at the sight of her own withered flesh. "Now I'm… I'm… _old_."

Even as the sorceress collapsed against her, Quistis forgave her sobs. _Dear God, she threw away her entire life…_ Even as she held the crying girl, Quistis could see Irvine and Selphie staring at her, frowns etched across their faces. The SeeD tried to find within herself the same skepticism she saw creasing the features of her team, but she could not. _She gave up her entire future to go on a mission that—even if she's successful—will kill her._ Quistis looked down at the ancient young girl shuddering against her. _But… _"…why?" Placing her hands on the sorceress's shoulders, Quistis gently pushed herself a step back from Rachel. Kneeling brought her to eye-level with the hunched form of the girl. "Why are you doing this, Rachel? Ultemecia is dead. We killed her."

The sorceress shook her head and swallowed. "Yes, you came and saved the last of us… but you were too late. She… she…" Rachel faltered, then, closing her eyes, continued. "You can't imagine what it's like after Ultemecia. She burned entire cities with her wrath. She scoured life from the lands and boiled the seas. And those who managed to escape her… the time compression—she was using it to kill the last of us." She took a breath. "Only us… only the white SeeDs managed to stay alive because our fleet was so spread-out. But…" She paused. "Our world is dead. We have no future. The continents are burning, the oceans are sterile, and we… we have… we had nowhere to go. That's why they sent us back. That's why we have to stop her, we have to stop her before she kills everyone." 

Silence fell across the underground chamber. Quistis looked over to Irvine and Selphie. The two SeeDs stood, their expressions unfathomable. _They don't believe her. I can understand why not. They don't want to. I don't want to either._ At length, Irvine spoke up. "Quistis, I think now is a good time for that conference." He jerked his head toward the outside light spilling from the entryway.

"Rachel, I need to discuss some things with my squad. Will you wait here for a moment?" Looking drained, the sorceress nodded numbly at Quistis's question.

The two SeeDs followed their commander out of the bunker and into the surrounding forest that lay beneath a darkening sky. 

"I don't believe her." After having chosen a convenient tree to lean against, Irvine was the first to speak. "She's got no proof." 

Selphie nodded. "She didn't give us any evidence to back up her claims. She's asking us to take this all on faith." The small SeeD shook her head. "I don't think I can do that." In the distance, thunder—or perhaps artillery fire—rumbled.

Quistis frowned. "Why not? I mean, I know some of her story sounds a little far-fetched, but she knows some things that she shouldn't know unless she's telling the truth. I mean, some of what she said is stuff that we never talked about. How could she know it unless her story is genuine?"

"Quis, don't tell me you're actually starting to believe her." Irvine pushed away from the tree.

"Irvine, it's the most plausible explanation of what's going on that I've heard yet. Just because we don't like what she is saying doesn't mean that she's not telling the truth." Quistis spread her hands.

Selphie's brow creased. "But… but… Squall and Rinoa would never do… I mean, I can't believe it. They're our friends." A droplet of rain struck her shoulder.

"I'm not so sure if that's true any more." _I know you want to believe in them, Selphie, Irvine. I want to believe in them too._ Quistis sighed. "After what we did in Deling… I just don't know." _But we can't let that affect our judgment. We can't let friendships—feelings—from the past interfere with our present judgment._ She almost shrugged. "Isn't it possible that what we did—or what it looked like we did—in Galbadia might have really affected Squall and Rinoa? I think the best thing to do here, is to follow the sorceress. We should find out what she's up to, find out what we can do." _I… Squall, I want to believe in you. I want to believe in you so much it hurts… but…_ Now Quistis did shrug. "Besides, we should stay around just in case she isn't telling the truth.

Irvine had stepped forward, and was now face-to-face with Quistis. She met his gaze. "Quistis, this is the same speech you gave to all of us on the train to Deling. This is the same stuffthat got us into all that trouble." The sharpshooter shook his head. "I'm sorry, Quis. I just can't swallow any more of it. Squall and Rinoa are my friends. I can't go along with this." Overhead, a breeze rustled the leaves.

_I know, Irvine, I know. I feel the same way as you do—and that's the problem _Sadly, Quistis turned to Selphie. _I can't let my feelings for… him… interfere with doing what's right. We can't let our emotions direct us._ "You feel the same way?" Quistis knew she need not have asked. 

"I'm sorry, Quis." Selphie echoed hollowly.

The SeeD leader looked to the ground, feeling the stinging warmth in her eyes. "I… I understand, guys." She blinked the moisture away and looked up. "I've got to go back in there. That is my duty."

"We won't be coming with you if you do, Quistis." Selphie said, unnecessarily.

"I know." Quistis's voice was almost a whisper. She wanted to hug them both,to clasp hands, she wanted to communicate her feelings to them through some form of human contact—and maybe, just maybe, receive some understanding in return. Instead, she straightened. "Good luck, SeeDs." Back stiffened, emotions firmly in hand, Quistis saluted.

Selphie and Irvine returned the gesture. "Good luck, Quistis." 

Somewhere along the Galbadian-Timber border, before the oncoming storm, four friends, at last, parted ways.

…

Squall awoke with his cheek pressing into the cold wood of the desk. As he raised his head, a few pages of the report he had been scanning stuck to his forehead. Pulling them off, he regarded the papers. Just like all the others, this report from the Secret Service staff contained no useful information. The dozens of pages of lengthy wording could all be reduced into one phrase: 'no new information.'

Squall's spine popped as he stood. Despite his stiffness, the knight did not wince. He made gesture at all that would indicate any awareness of his own personal physical situation—a situation that was rapidly deteriorating. Squall was discheveled and unshaven. His hair lay—matted and dull—lifelessly across his scalp, and dark rings encircled his eyes. 

His empty stomach had long since ceased growling and now, painful pangs of hunger stabbed through him. Squall glanced at a wall clock. It was two in the morning, the kitchen staff would be gone so he could not have anything brought up to the office, yet his quick unplanned nap had convinced him that he needed some form of chemical stimulant in order to keep awake. 

Squall shrugged. There was nothing for it but to head down to the kitchen and make himself a cup of coffee.

On the way, he was careful to avoid the hallway leading to the bedroom where Rinoa had slept, he took steps to stay away from the balcony where she had been attacked by the living statues, in fact, Squall did a good job of avoiding any part of the mansion that could have been associated with the sorceress in any way—until he reached the kitchen.

Squall pushed open the door to the already-lighted room, and stopped dead in his tracks. Rinoa looked up from the steaming mug she held in one hand and smiled at him. Shaking her sleep-tousled hair from her face, she leaned back, stretched and yawned. The door slammed behind Squall, and the memory disappeared. 

The knight staggered back against the wall, clutching at his chest with one hand. The other softened his landing as he slumped to the floor. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Squall buried his face in his hands. 

Some time later, he managed to stagger back to the mercifully memory-free sanctuary of the Executive Office. Squall did not fall asleep again.

"And what, exactly, would that mean?" Squall folded his arms across his chest.

The executive aide looked nervous. "Um… well, Sir, it would mean you lose all power over governmental functions." Feeling like he had not said enough, the aide continued in a rush. "But that's assuming, of course, that the senate votes for impeachment by a three-quarters majority. I'm sure you could prevent that by reining in the Secret Service, or maybe ending martial law. A-at least in the southern provinces." The aide hastened to add the last bit after finding himself on the receiving end of Squall's stony glare.

"So I would no longer be able to direct the search for the sorceress?" Squall asked in a dead voice.

"Well… erm, yes. That's correct, Sir." Scuffing his feet on the thick blue carpet of the Executive Office of the Presidential Mansion, the aide coughed. "Of course, you would be free to conduct your own, private, search." Looking up, but careful not to let his eyes fall on the face of the Knight of Galbadia, the aide instead stared out the large, bright window against which, Squall stood silhouetted by the light of day. "But, as I mentioned earlier, you could avoid this by taking a look at some of your other concerns…"

"THERE ARE NO OTHER CONCERNS!!" Squall exploded, flinging an arm out to the side. "You tell me that the senate wants to take away my ability to look for the sorceress? Then disband the senate."

Aghast, the aide actually looked directly at Squall. "Disband the senate?! Sir?? B-but there's no legal precedent—no, there's no legality in that at all! I mean, you can't do that, it's not legal!" 

Squall's eyes narrowed. Stepping forward, he stabbed a button near a small speaker set into his desk. "Jackson. Get me General Rourk."

"At once, sir." A voice rang from the speaker.

"Wha-what are you doing?" The aide—Squall finally remembered his name, Anath Delahn—stammered.

"Making it legal."

…

Seifer sighed as Ultemecia ran her fingers through his close-cropped hair, just like she had in so many dreams before. The slightest smile crept across his face as the wonderful fulfillment her touch brought him invigorated his soul. But something was amiss. The touch was not that of his sorceress, the fingers stroking his hair were as alien to him as the thought of surrender. His eyes snapped open. A pair of lilac orbs gazed down at him.

In a flash, Seifer was on his feet, black gunblade held at the ready. Before him, the albino-haired woman reclined on a low couch. Behind her, the deep blue of a large lake or ocean sparkled through a pair of silver-gilded French doors. The walls of the room were painted a pastel blue, while several additional pieces of furniture were covered in sea foam-green upholstery. Underfoot, a deep carpet of royal lavender softened Seifer's footfalls as he took two additional steps backward. "Who are you?" He demanded.

The corners of the woman's mouth twitched downward, drawing her full lips into a slight pout. "Oh, come now, Seifer. Don't you remember me?"

"You're the one who released my from my cell at the tower prison in Deling." Seifer's eyes narrowed. "But you haven't answered my question. Who are you?"

By way of answer, the woman stretched languorously. Her ankle-length dress clung closely to the curves of her slender body. "Take a good look, Seifer." The woman yawned slightly. "Do you like what you see?" White teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. "I hope so, because I am your new sorceress."

"My new sorceress." Seifer echoed dully. Though he kept his voice even, his knuckles popped as his grip on Hyperion tightened.

Another feline grin appeared. "You catch on quick, my dear." She shook a cascade of white hair over one shoulder. "I know how you've been lost, Seifer. I know how you've been drifting without a purpose." The woman leaned back against the cushions, crossing her long legs before her. Seifer noted that her dress was slit halfway up one leg, it now slid away, exposing a small expanse of creamy white thigh. "I can give your life new meaning, Seifer. I can give you a reason to live. For I am the sorceress Sera, and I require your services."

"A reason to live?" Slowly, Seifer sheathed his weapon.

"That's right, my knight." The sorceress purred. "Serve me, and I think you'll find the rewards quite…" She paused, running her tongue over her upper lip. "…pleasing."

Seifer said nothing. The woman smiled again.

"The pieces are falling into place." Sera did not bother adding the husky undertones to her voice she had affected in Seifer's presence. Normally, she enjoyed watching—and using—men's reactions to her seductive charms, but this one was different. This one, she had found, was beyond her ability to control—in too many ways.

"I don't like it. It is in poor judgment to use the renegade in our plans." The man spoke from the shadows cast by flickering torchlight in the dank underground chamber. "We could easily proceed with the plan without him." 

"Nonsense. Just because you failed to control him properly as a boy does not mean he cannot be broken to our will." The sorceress grinned maliciously. "In fact, I'd say he is already firmly in hand." 

"You may think so. I thought so once. Then he escaped my grasp and wreaked havoc among my investments." Stepping out of the shadows, the man glanced furtively about. His eyes were flat, dead, calculating. "He is unpredictable."

The sorceress brushed his concerns away with a wave of her hand. "Yes, but you were a stupid Shumi then. You didn't understand human nature." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder—if after all these years as one of us—you understand us any better." She turned away from the man. "Besides, we have more important things to worry about than that minor distraction."

"You have located the sorceress then?" As the man stepped forward, a scuttling cockroach met its unfortunate end as it crunched against the cold stone floor under his left foot. He seemed not to notice. 

"Yes. As we thought, she has gone to seek out the Fate." The sorceress muttered a quiet spell, and fire burst from a pile of cold ashes set into a pit near the center of the smooth stone flooring. 

"Did she choose the contest?" The man asked.

"No, she chose the penance instead." The sorceress spat in disgust. "But it will not add undue complication."

Despite the reassurance, the man paled. "But… but… during her penance, surely you will lose the ability to influence her—if you have not already."

"Do you mean control her?" The sorceress laughed. "No, without the device, she is already beyond my direct control—just as she is immune to your ability to possess her." Her eyes hardened. "But she is by no means beyond my influence."

"So, you mean to use the Leonhart?" The man shook his head. "I warn you, sorceress; do not underestimate him. I did once. It was quite nearly the last mistake of my life."

Stepping forward, the sorceress cast a handful of powdered Cockatrice beak on the magical flames. The fire changed from red to green as tendrils of an ethereal smoke immediately began curling from the flames. "Have no fear, my time-traveling companion. I have no intention of underestimating the knight." She waved a hand, and the transparent smoke ceased its aimless drifting, and shot straight to a ceiling ductwhere it disappeared. "Unlike you, however, I know ways of controlling others such that they never know the control is there in the first place."

"Try not to cause too much damage in the riots." The man wrung his hands nervously. "One day, this country will be mine."

"Indeed." The sorceress said, almost in agreement. Almost.

That night, a wind blew over the city. It came from no measurable direction, and blew at no measurable pace, but those caught outside under the baleful eye of the moon—reddened by the dust blowing in from the desert on the sickly warm air—buttoned up their coats despite the hot breath of the wind, and hunched over when they walked, as if bracing themselves against a gale. 

The wind wound its way down dark alleys and across gritty rooftops. It danced among dead leaves and batted at rattling window shutters. Many lay sleepless that night, tossing and turning on the uncomfortably warm sheets. Those wakeful souls who held superstition in their heart shuddered at the sound of the wind moaning through bare branches, and drew the hot covers up over their heads. They could sense that an evil wind was blowing. 

A nearly transparent smoke, rising from the rusted grate of a sewer drain was carried across the city by the wind. The ethereal mist was dispersed into every nook and cranny of the city. It wound its way into the people's houses and permeated their bedding, their clothes, their minds. In the souls of the people, the smoke began to sow seeds of discontent in the fertile ground of troubled hearts. 

As the night wore on, more and more people threw off their suddenly oppressive bedding and made the dangerous treks to the houses of friends. In the small hours of the morning, with the wind still tugging at the last dead leaves of fall, whispered conversations progressed behind drawn curtains in nearly every home in Deling City. The plotting, the planning, the disillusionment all needed but a single catalyst to burst into the flames of open revolt.

With the dawning of morning over Deling came the news of the disbanding of the senate.

…

When Quistis returned to the earthy dimness of the underground bunker, Dahyte was gone. Only the withered form of the sorceress remained. She was huddled into a corner, her tear-reddened eyes staring blankly at the floor. Upon the SeeD's arrival, they rose to take her in. "You… you came back." Rachel seemed surprised.

"Yes. But the others aren't coming." Quistis's voice was cold.

"I understand." Rachel hung her head. "I know it must be hard for you to accept what I've told you." She looked up, hesitantly. "I… I'm really glad you came back."

Quistis placed her hands on her hips. "I came back to deliver an ultimatum." She said severely. "If you swear to me that you will do nothing more to hurt Squall or Rinoa, then I will help you complete your mission. If you refuse, then I will do everything in my power to stop you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

The girl nodded vigorously. "Oh yes! Yes, I promise!" For the first time, a small smile dared inch its way across her features. "It's perfect… I mean, it will work out that way… the next—" She cut herself off, realizing that she wasn't making any sense. "What I mean is; the third focal point, isn't something that can hurt your friends. It has to do with an object called the 'Sapphire Dream'. It's a large jewel with incredible magical powers. The Sapphire Dream is the source of Ultemecia's power. Without it, she would be no more than just a normal sorceress. But with it…" Rachel shuddered. "She is almost as powerful as Hyne himself."

Quistis said nothing. She simply folded her arms across her chest and waited for the sorceress to continue.

Rachel blinked. "Oh… yeah. What we need to do…" She seemed to shake herself mentally, then continued. "In my time, there was no way to separate Ultemecia from the Sapphire Dream. But now, I think we may be able to get to it, and keep her from ever using its magic against the world."

Quistis frowned. "How do I know you don't just want this object for yourself? How do I know you're not planning to use it against me or my friends once we find it?"

Rachel sighed heavily. "I can't give you any guarantees except a promise. I promise that all I want to do when we find the Sapphire Dream… is destroy it." She shivered, but stepped forward until she was looking directly up, into the SeeD's eyes. "Quistis, I've seen too many of my friends die because of that thing. I…" She motioned to herself. "I'm like this because of the Sapphire Dream. I hate that object more than I can say." She hung her head. "I'm sorry, I've no more words to convince you with."

"Alright. For now, I'll believe you." Quistis sighed. "So, where is this thing?"

Rachel grimaced slightly. "That's kind of the hard part…"

"What, you don't know where it is?" The SeeD tilted her head to the side.

"No… I know where it is, I know how to get to it, I can get you transportation there." The sorceress said.

"But…" Quistis prompted.

"But, it's… well…" Rachel could not think of a good way to state the problem, so she simply said: "It's on the dark side of the moon."

"My god…" Quistis was speechless.

The sorceress shook her head. "I don't even think she's brave enough to go there."

…

"What is it?!" Squall whirled from the depressingly empty map of Galbadia that had been hung against the window behind his desk. _Still not a single sighting… Why is… she… hiding from me?_ He glared at his head aide as the man, hunched against the anger he could feel emanating from the knight, stepped into the room.

"Uh… Sir, I know you hate to be bothered with…" A hint of a sarcastic smile twisted at the corner of the aide's mouth before he continued. "…trivial matters of state, but a major situation is developing all across the country—and it's spread here to Deling as well."

"What? More protests?" Squall growled. "Very well. Authorize the army to deploy riot gear again." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now, don't bother me again unless it's news of the sorceress."

"No, sir. Things have become more serious. The citizens are in active revolt over the disbanding of the senate." The aide began rattling off problems. "Seven new rebel groups have declared the Galbadian government defunct and have been making attacks against military patrols." The aide paused to draw breath. "And… there's been some disturbances from within the government."

In the short time he had spent as head of the Galbadian government, Squall had come to recognize the deliberate understatement of bad news that came naturally to all minor functionaries. "A coup. How close to me have they gotten?"

At the knight's words, the aide's face underwent a transformation. From nervous worry, the man's expression changed to one of fatalistic resignedness that made Squall's throat tighten. "I'm sorry, Sir, I'm afraid they've reached your office." The aide said as he reached into his jacket and withdrew a snub-nosed pistol. "Sir, I truly regret this, but I cannot let you do this to Galbadia." The man continued speaking as he leveled the weapon at Squall's chest. "I've seen administration after administration abuse this office, and roll over the ideals that Galbadia was founded upon. First Vinzer, then Ultemecia, and now you." The man sighed. "I had such high hopes that order and fairness would be restored after you and the sorceress came to power. All the people did." Ever so slowly, Squall began to edge toward his desk. Oblivious, the man continued. "But what you're doing now… It's tearing the country apart, Sir! The secret service is holding the populace hostage, abducting whomever they please and terrorizing everyone. The people are stifling under martial law, while the army treads on their civil rights. Sir, this can't go on. Somebody has to stop it."

"And that somebody just has to be you?" Squall attempted to distract the man's attention.

"Who else is in the right position?" He pulled back the hammer on the weapon. "I'm sorry, Sir. This madness ends now."

Faster than the eye can follow, Squall dove toward his desk, snatching up and flinging a silver letter-opener even as he dropped behind the heavy piece of furniture. The pistol barked once—unbelievably loud in the confined space—and the window behind the desk shattered as the round missed the knight and flew off into the streets of Deling. Crouching behind the desk, his right hand lit with the swirling amber glow of a Flare spell, Squall heard the thump of a body hitting the carpeted floor. Cautiously, he stood, and peered over the his impromptu shelter. 

The aide lay sprawled on the floor, his hands clutching at the end of the sharp letter-opener protruding from his throat. His breath was a gurgling wheeze, and his gun had fallen far from his prostrate form. 

Squall stepped over to him, and gently pulled the aide's hands away from his throat. A small trickle of blood ran from the puncture wound the metal object had made. It bubbled slightly as the man inhaled. "I missed the carotid artery. You'll live." Squall said coldly. The man's eyes stared up at him uncomprehendingly. As the knight stood to leave, the beast holding his heart in thrall relented just the tiniest bit. Squall was allowed to cast a pitying glance down at the man. "I'm sorry." Squall paused, somehow, it did not seem like enough. "I hope things work out for you." He finished lamely. 

His secretary was gone, so Squall made the call himself. "Medic to the Executive Office." He didn't bother waiting to see if anyone acknowledged his order.

The limousine was far too long and obtrusive, Squall decided. Turning away from the entrance to the garage below the mansion—where the presidential motorcade was located—he opted, instead, for one of the escort motorcycles. Levering himself up onto the bike, he donned the helmet before stomping the starter, the darkened face-guard would help him avoid unwanted attention.

The streets of Deling City were a nightmare. Broken and burning cars lay everywhere. _My god, was I really so oblivious to what was happening right under my nose…?_ For the first time, a tiny twinge of doubt pricked at the monster locked around Squall's heart.

Occasionally, Squall passed a burning police car or APC along the side of the deserted streets—evidence of organized rebel resistance within the city. Acting on impulse, he switched on the motorcycle's police scanner.

From the myriad garbled transmissions he picked up, Squall determined that control of Deling was now being contested by four distinct forces. The first, and most powerful seemed to be the military units involved in the coup. They had already taken over the downtown district, Presidential mansion, General Caraway's mansion, and the army base to the north of Deling. The second force seemed to consist of several different rebel groups, all engaged in guerrilla activity in nearly every sector of Deling. Dispatchers also were trading rumors of a possible organized force of revolutionaries moving through the plains south of Deling, headed toward Galbadia's capitol. The third force consisted of military units still loyal to the sitting government of Galbadia. Squall imagined that this meant himself. They were disorganized and unsure of what procedures to follow, but had managed to take control of the residential suburbs and an Air Force base located on the western side of Deling. A fourth military force was holding on to the airport near downtown, and they seemed to be in control of the cities sewer and subway system, but police units were unsure of where their loyalties lay. The general standing order for the civilian police units in Deling was to try to keep peace, prevent looting, and avoid areas of armed combat.

Ignoring the red light at an abandoned intersection, Squall leaned into the road as he gunned the bike's motor into the hard left turn—and was surprised by the appearance of a Galbadian main battle tank as it clanked up the road, filling the entire street in front of him. Squall let go of the handlebars as he kicked the motorcycle's tail around. He fell onto the hard concrete and skidded to a stop. The motorcycle slid, with a crash, into the tank's forward armor plating even as the huge vehicle ground to a halt. A hatch in the cupola popped open, and three soldiers sprang from the tank, dropping to the road below and advancing on Squall, weapons held at the ready. 

"Hands up!" The lead soldier shouted as the knight staggered to his feet.

Pretending to be still dazed from the crash, Squall stumbled forward and raised a hand. "Don't shoot." _Just a little closer…_

The soldier was not fooled. "I said, hands up!" He leveled his rifle at Squall's chest.

Reluctantly, the knight complied even while glaring at the soldiers who moved forward to grab his arms. Banking on the hope that they hadn't been ordered to shoot him on sight—if they were soldiers involved in the coup—Squall shouted as he was being restrained. "I am Squall Leonhart, Knight of Galbadia, and I demand you release me, at once!"

If Squall had hoped that the shock of hearing his name would loosen his captor's grips and allow him to escape, he was disappointed. "Well, well! Looks like that big bonus is **ours,** boys!" The lead soldier grinned. "'You're under arrest, Mr. Leonhart."

Squall said nothing, instead, he began to fade away.

"Oh shit! Back in the tank! It's a GF!!" There was a mad scramble for the cupola hatch. An unearthly clanging noise filled the air as the street darkened. Twin tracks of ghostly flames sprang from the concrete, and in the distance, a mournful whistle sounded, like the wailing of lost souls. The last soldier barely made it into the tank before Doomtrain slammed into the heavy machine. There was an explosive bang of colliding metal, and the rear armor of the tank dented inward in a shower of sparks as the spectral locomotive plowed through the war machine, blasting out through the other side and disappearing into the darkness. 

Squall was exhausted by the time he finished dragging the last frozen soldier from the interior of the tank. Though he was tempted to leave the poisoned men lying there on the road, at the last moment, the beast let Squall relent, and he cast Esuna spells on the five man crew, allowing them to jump out of the way as his newly acquired tank—with a horrible grinding of gears—lurched off down the road.

After a few moments of fiddling with the communications equipment—difficult to reach from the driver's seat—Squall managed to establish a television contact with his own forces. It was a few more minutes before he was able to speak to someone in a position of authority. 

"Sir! It's good to see that you're alive, Sir! The colonel seemed genuinely glad to see Squall. 

"I'm glad someone thinks so, colonel. Can you tell me what's going on?"

The officer complied, re-iterating most of what Squall already knew, but adding one surprising detail. "Sir, the forces holding Deling's airport are being lead by General Caraway." 

Squall was so thunderstruck by the news, that he accidentally let the tank crush several parked cars along one side of the narrow street he was rattling down. "What?! Caraway is back?" He shouted as he pulled the tank back to the middle of the street.

"Yessir! But he says his position at the airport is becoming untenable. He is requesting permission to fly his troops out to join our forces here at the air station." The colonel reported.

"Wait, don't give him permission just yet. Is there any way you can put me through to him?" Squall asked warily. 

"Yes, Sir. I'll have you patched through now." The screen to Squall's right flickered, and the face of General Richard Caraway replaced that of the colonel.

"Squall Leonhart? Are you there?" The man inquired.

"Sir, what is more important than your daughter's card?" Squall had to shout to be heard over the noise created by the tank's treads as he rolled over a makeshift barricade of burnt-out automobiles. Bullets fired from rebels hiding among the debris scattered across the road spanged off of the tanks armored sides.

"What?" The general looked confused for a minute, then realization crept into his eyes. "Ifrit, Squall, Ifrit. But it wasn't worth the trade."

"Because you lost it to Martine?" Convinced that the man on the other end of the line really was Richard Caraway, Squall decided to reciprocate by assuring the general of his own identity.

"I'm glad you… remembered, Squall. But that's not the reason I regretted letting my daughter go…" For a moment, a distant look crept into General Caraway's eyes, but he banished it with a shake of his head. "We have more important matters to discuss, Mr. Leonhart. How quickly can you get to the Air Force base in western Deling?"

Squall spared a glance at the navigational displays located behind his head. As he did so, he heard something large crunch under the armored treads of the tank, but ignored the sound. "An hour at best, why?"

On the screen, the general shook his head. "Squall, that's not going to be fast enough. These people who have been doing… other things… are—I believe—the instigators of the coup, and maybe of the rebellion too." He frowned. "Though your running of the country didn't do a whole lot to instill confidence in the populace." He shook his head again. "But that's in the past. The problem we are faced with now is; two large divisions of troops are moving in from the west and from the north. They are loyal to the instigators of the coup, and we don't have the resources to hold them off. My troops have commandeered enough civilian airliners to get themselves and your forces out of Deling." He paused to check his wristwatch. "We're already in the air. We can pick up your troops and get out in time—but only if we do it within the next half-hour."

Squall nodded. "I understand, general. I'll transfer command of my men over to you. Let me make the connection with them now…" 

Before Squall could adjust the communications set, the screen shifted back to the face of the colonel. "Sir, we've been listening to your exchange on this end. I've already given the order to prepare to pull out. We'll be ready when General Caraway lands." Again, before Squall could make a move, the screen flashed back to the face of Richard Caraway.

"Squall, I picked up that last transmission. My aircraft are landing now." He paused for a moment. "Mr. Leonhart, I've been briefed on your actions over the past few days… and…" Strangely, the general seemed to be having trouble finding the right words to voice his thoughts. "Well, I think I'm beginning to see something that I might have missed before. I think I know why you did what you did… so…" The general drew a breath. "I have a very important task I need you to complete, Squall."

Squall's eyes narrowed. _What the hell is he talking about? There's only one thing I'm interested in right now…_

"Squall, my sources tell me that my daughter has gone to seek out the Fate on the Mare Lela peninsula. Have you heard of this place?" The general's face was stony.

"Yes, Sir. Most of it's still uncharted wilderness, but I know the general location." Squall kept his voice carefully neutral, though he felt like shouting. At last, he had a lead. 

"I don't know why she's gone there, Squall, but I think you do. This past year has taught me that I may no longer understand Rinoa quite so well as I thought I did." The general seemed to have something stuck in his throat.

_I don't know why she's gone, general. I don't know any better than you._ Squall's grip on the control sticks tightened.

At last, General Caraway seemed able to speak around the obstruction. "I need you to find her for me, Squall. Find my daughter."

"Yes, Sir." 

"You won't make it to the airbase in time, Squall, so I'm sending a VTOL aircraft to pick you up. The pilot knows the way, but the aircraft only has enough fuel to get you within about a hundred miles of your destination—and nobody knows exactly where the Fate is. That is all going to be up to you." The general looked down.

"Understood, Sir. I will find Rinoa…" _But not for you, general._ The effort to keep control after saying her name caused Squall's teeth to lock together.

General Richard Caraway's eyes grew hard. "You will, Squall Leonhart. You will find her and protect her, or…" Caraway leaned in close to the camera, his voice a hissing whisper. "…or I will hunt you down and kill you."

Squall's voice became equally icy. "I understand, general." He bared his teeth. "But keep this in mind: if you've lied to me, if you've done anything to keep me from completing this task, I'll do the same to you."

The general's smile was just a shade short of vicious. "I'm glad we understand each other, Mr. Leonhart. Caraway out." The screen went dead.

The rocketman watched the aircraft as it flashed in and out of view from between the three-story apartment buildings surrounding the parking lot. Below him, bright green smoke from the landing marker the man had dropped was whipped into swirling eddies by the dusty wind. Having completed a circuit of the area surrounding the impromptu landing field, the jet aircraft slowed for its final approach. 

Dodging out from the cover of the lean-to constructed on the roof of the building, the rocketman raised the long, metal tube to his shoulder, peering through the missile launcher's sight. As a solid red box appeared around the approaching aircraft, his finger tightened on the trigger. 

A gout of yellow flame blasted from the rear of the shoulder-mounted missile launcher. The guided rocket streaked toward the approaching aircraft, trailing white smoke. A split-second before it impacted with the jet, the missile's warhead exploded, peppering the aircraft's air intakes and cockpit with metal shrapnel. 

Trailing black smoke, the jet yawed to one side and began losing altitude. It was descending rapidly when it dropped behind a line of buildings that obstructed the rocketman's view. Seconds later, there was a loud boom, and a cloud of oily smoke mushroomed into the sky near where the airplane had disappeared.

Dropping the empty launcher, the rocketman ran over to the edge of the roof. He grinned as a half-dozen Galbadian soldiers grabbed the man who had driven the tank and dropped the smoke. He relaxed further at the flashes of Silence magic that the troops cast on the man. A second later, every muscle in his body spasmed as the black blade speared through his heart. 

Had the man been alive to see it, he would have marveled as the sight of the cloaked figure jumping three stories down to the ground, cleaving a second soldier nearly in half as he landed. The rocketman would have thought the jump impossible, and he would have been right. The jump _was_ impossible—for anyone not imbued with the power of their sorceress.

"Why are you doing this?" Squall had his own blade out now as he faced Seifer.

"Because I have to." The white-clad knight growled. "Now go! There will be more soldiers here at any second."

Gunfire rattled from across the parking lot. Squall did not move. "Why did she run?" 

"I can't tell you." Seifer snarled as a bullet whined past. "**Go! **Find your sorceress."

Squall ran. Before he likewise disappeared into the dimness of the winding alleyways, Seifer cast a Protect spell on the knight's retreating figure. He grimaced in genuine pain as the spell sparked with the impact of a bullet a second later.

…

"Aw, come on, darlin'. An ocean cruise for two. Don't that sound romantic?" Irvine gestured for Selphie to jump down off the dock and join him in the dingy, single-masted cabin cruiser. 

"Irvine, if you think, for one second, that using that stupid cowboy drawl of yours is going to charm me into setting foot on that… floating piece of trash, you're dead wrong." Selphie shouted shrilly from her perch on the concrete retaining wall. 

"But, Selphie, mae little doe-eyed beauty… how else 'r we gonna get across to Esthar? The last freighter full 'o refugees just shipped out last night." Irvine stood, arms akimbo, looking up at Selphie.

"Well, if you had **listened** to me, instead of just picking me up and chucking me in that damned taxi after we got here, you would know." Selphie's voice softened a bit. "Besides, remember how much fun you had on the trawler we took up the coast to Dollett? How do you think that toy boat is going to feel out on the open ocean?"

At the diminutive SeeDs remarks Irvine greened slightly. "Well… I still don' see how there's any other way…"

Seeing her chance, Selphie jumped on it. "Well, just come with me, and I'll show you! Don't worry, Irvy." She grinned happily as she hauled the gangly sharpshooter up onto dry land. "I've got everything taken care of."

"Oh no! No way! Ain't no way I'm gittin' in that thing!" Irvine shook his head, and dug his heels in, preventing Selphie from dragging him any closer to the snub-nosed shape of the rocket plane, sitting on it's rusty railed launching track.

"Oh, come on, Irvy! It'll be fun, and its really fast too!" Selphie tugged harder on his arm.

"Uh-uh, darlin'. That thing there is a wreck! Look at it! It's all rusty and dirty. Looks like it hasn't flown in years." Irvine took a step backward, dragging his excited girlfriend with him.

"Well, actually mister, it's never flown." A voice from behind startled the sharpshooter. The speaker was dressed in greasy coveralls, slouch cap, boots and a wide grin. "I guess you two are the test pilots who volunteered to try the old bird out?"

"That's right!" Selphie piped up before Irvine could disagree.

"Well, okay. Here. Me an' my boys'll give you a hand getting in." The man shook his head. "Man, you kids sure are brave. Hell, I wouldn't fly in one of those things even if my life depended on it." He grinned as a pair of burly mechanics each grabbed one of Irvine's arms and propelled him toward the waiting aircraft. "We've got her all fueled up and ready to go. Now, the Galbadian's built this thing near the end of the Sorceress War, so don't expect too much fancy navigational equipment or anything on board. Just kind of point her in the direction you want, and push the 'go' button." He gave Selphie an arm up even as the other two mechanics were stuffing a stunned Irvine into the seat behind Selphie's. "Boy, if this works, won't those Galbadian buggers be in for a nasty surprise?" He grinned and took a step back from the stained metal sides of the cigar-shaped aircraft. "Ok, I guess you've already heard all this, but keep in mind, these were built to be flying bombs, so you'll have to eject before you land."

"A FLYING WHAT?!" Irvine shouted, but his canopy had already closed, sealing off his voice.

"Since you're going to Esthar, there's no explosives loaded on your rocket, but try not to land on anybody, cause there's still gonna be a pretty big boom when you come down." Even though the canopy was closed, the headphones in Irvine's helmet allowed him to hear every word the mechanic said. "Well, guess that's about it. Good luck." He waved at the couple as he backed away from the launching rails. Selphie waved back vigorously. Irvine simply sat and stared.

The aircraft began to vibrate slightly and the whine of high-speed pumps filled both cockpits. "Okay! All systems show green." From the far end of the field—where the mechanic had run, a tiny figure waved it's arms. "Are you ready to go?"

"NO!!" Irvine shouted.

"YEAH!!" Selphie yelled, and stabbed the ignition button.

There was a tremendous roar as the rocket motor on the rear of the flying bomb ignited, shooting out a two-hundred foot long tongue of flame. The two SeeDs were squashed into their seats by the acceleration of the rocket plane. Despite the weight of what felt like an Iron Giant sitting on his chest, Irvine still managed to scream in terror as the curved rail track lofted the aircraft into the sky.

Across the field, one mechanic turned to another and shrugged. "Well, it didn't blow up, but did you hear that weird shrieking noise over the firing of the booster?" 

The man beside him ignored the question, he was too busy grumbling and digging for his wallet. The betting results were in, the house collected well that afternoon.

…

"Is it because you love him?"

"What?" Quistis turned her head, and suppressed another shudder. Though the sniper was immobile—strapped in to the horizontal acceleration couch—the bulbous head and huge, black eye of the polarized space suit helmet made Dahyte seem even more alien, even more dangerous and unpredictable.

"Is that why you're doing this? Is it because you love him?" The SeeD repeated her question.

In a flash, Quistis's trepidation was replaced by anger. "Why do you care, sniper? It's not like you would understand emotions of that kind anyway."

It had been meant as an insult, but Dahyte simply nodded slightly at Quistis's words. "Professional curiosity."

"No. I don't love him, and that's not why I'm on this mission." Quistis spoke as much for her own benefit as for the sniper's.

"Then why did you agree to come? Why are you helping her?" Inside her helmet, Dahyte kept her head facing forward. "You know she's going to use it against them, don't you? You can't be so blind that you don't realize that."

Even as Dahyte's words stung her, Quistis marveled at the sniper's sudden loquaciousness. "I don't think so. I'm here because it's the right thing to do."

"No you're not. You're here because your need to deny your feelings for him has overcome your judgment." Dahyte moistened her lips and blinked several times in preparation for launch.

"Why don't you just shut up? You don't know anything about it." Quistis snapped. Then, the engines ignited, and there was no more time for talk. As gravity did it's best to cling to the enormous Galbadian rocket, crushing its occupants back into their seats, Quistis assured herself. _She's wrong. She doesn't know anything about it._

…

Seifer stepped through the door and into the clouds of smoke that hung low over the roadside bar and pool hall. After following Squall to the outskirts of Deling—where the knight had managed to purloin a Galbadian army motorcycle—Seifer felt he deserved a chance to unwind. Plus, he was going to need a vehicle if he was to complete the mission the sorceress had given him.

Standing in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness, Seifer took note of a group of rough-looking characters seated at the bar, laughing and drinking. On his way in, he had seen the echelon of motorcycles parked out side. It seemed safe to assume that the group dressed in metal-studded leather at the bar were the hog drivers. 

At length, Seifer noted that his motionlessness had drawn the attention of the group. He chose that moment to walk forward, and situate himself at the first empty stool next to the meanest looking member of the gang. He then proceeded to order a full bottle of Pinot Noir Champagne loudly—which, he knew, of course, they would not have. Upon being informed of the establishment's lack of the requested drink, Seifer made a show of rolling his eyes and saying he would take a bottle of whatever the house reccommeneded. This request took a few moments to process as the bartender was not used such royal airs from his patrons. 

The group—now on Seifer's right—snickered and made rude comments. His head turned away from them, Seifer smiled nastily.

When, at last, the bartender delivered a bottle of indeterminant contents in front of Seifer, the knight sniffed at its mouth disdainfully and pretened to cough from the fumes. 

This, at last, drew a response from the scarred giant directly to Seifer's right. "'smatter, boy? Too much stronger than momma's milk?" This brought on a round of heavy laughter from the rest of the group. Seifer ignored the jab.

"Come on, yer 'onor. Why dontcha take a swig outta that bottle. Show us what a man you are." The man tried again.

Seifer continued to ignore him, turning his head away from the man.

"What? You think yer too good fer us now, Mr. Champaign?" A hint of ugliness crept into the—until now—congenial tone of the man's questions. "Can't drink our liquor, can't talk with the likes of us." He poked one stubby finger into Seifer's shoulder.

With deliberate slowness, Seifer turned to face the man. "You'll take your hands off me, if you know what's good for you." He said, evenly.

This remark brough a chorus of derisive comments from the gang. The man's face turned slightly redder, his mouth flipping into a downturned line. He jabbed a finger—hard enough to almost be a shove—into Seifer's shoulder. "You gonna make me, pretty boy?"

Seifer smiled again at this remark, and slowly lifted the bottle from the countertop. Placing it to his lips, he drained nearly a quarter of the liquid within without batting an eyelid. He then raised the bottle toward the man in a mocking salute. Then, in the space of a blinking eye, he swung the bottle over his head and broke it on the man's skull. Before anyone could react, the knights hand lashed out—palm first—and broke the man's nose by mashing it into his face. Gaining leverage by propping his body against the bar, Seifer slid off his stool and used his left arm to sweep the stunned man off his own perch. 

A blast of Aero magic—emanating from the knight—sent the remaining patrons and the bartender tumbling across the floor. Standing now, Seifer placed on booted foot squarely on the fallen man's crotch. He applied a light pressure. "Keys."

With a choked cough that sounded almost like a squeak, the man held them above his bloodied face. Seifer retrieved the jingling bits of metal, then frowned. He pressed down a bit harder. "Glasses." Arms shaking, the man pulled off his sunglasses and handed them to the knight. Wiping specks of blood from the dark lenses, Seifer grinned. "Thanks." 

The knight was just about to step out the front door of the bar when he heard the ominous sound of a shotgun round being chambered. "Hold on there, mister. You haven't paid for your drink." The bartender gestured toward the shattered glass with the weapon.

Behind the dark glasses, Seifer's eyes narrowed. _Put it on my tab, because…_ "…I'll be back." He said, and melted the shotgun with a blast of Flare magic.

Feeling much better, Seifer blasted down the burning asphalt on his new bike, his eyes protected from the glare of the sun by his new glasses. He even was able to amuse himself for a few moments, blowing the remainder of the motorcycle gang off their bikes with shots of Blizzaga magic when they decided to give chase.

…

It was snowing again. Fat flakes falling from the leaden sky, drifting downward like feathers, swirling through the silent pines to land on the soft beds of needles, then vanishing as they melted. She stared out at the darkening forest, peering through the wavy glass of the windopane, her breath fogging the cold crystal slightly. 

There, near the trunk of a dark pine, the small rabbit darted out of sight. Moments later, a quivering pair of light ears poked out from behind the snow-dampened bark. She noted that the bunny had already shed the fur of its dark summer coat, and now was nearly pure white—in preparation for the coming snows. 

"Is it snowing again?" The voice made her start.

She glanced back at the speaker, it was—of course—Mary Wilfre. The girl grimaced inwardly. "Yes."

Waddling slightly, Mary made her way around the rough wooden bench on which the girl sat. She seated herself with a heavy sigh. "Why do you new girls spend so much time staring out the windows?" She asked in a whining, nasal voice. "Your time could be better spent making sure your tasks were done correctly."

The girl hunched away from her slightly. "I've already finished with the repairs to block seven-B." 

"You're not listening to me!" Mary blew out an exasperated breath. "I said, you could take the time to do a better job of it. I saw how you were replacing those boards, and my-oh-my…" As Mary proceeded to launch into a lengthy description of just how she could have done a better job of making the repairs, the girl turned back to the window, trying to ignore the grating tone of the other woman's voice.

Eventually, the girl realized Mary had stopped talking. She was thankful.

"Well?" The woman turned toward her as best as her large girth would allow. 

The girl sighed. "Well, what?"

"You never listen to anyone! I just don't know why I bother!" Mary harrumphed.

_I don't know either, but I wish you wouldn't._ The girl did not take her eyes from the rough window.

Of course, the girl's silence was no deterrent to Mary. "I said; do you really think he's going to come for you?" The woman's smile turned ugly. "All the new girls think that—for the first few years." She waved a hand. "I thought you might be different. I thought you might figure out that he's not coming. They never come." She smiled happily, crowing quietly, but triumphantly. "He doesn't really love you. If he did, he'd already be here." She was about to say more, but faltered under the icy stare of the girl. "You can't really hope he'll be coming for you…" She finished.

"Just the opposite, Miss Wilfre. Every day I stare out this window praying that he won't appear. Every time I glance into the forest, I feel no disappointment when I see nothing but empty trees—I feel relief." With that, Rinoa stood, and made her way down the line of bunked beads stacked along the rickety wooden walls of the Fate's servant quarters.

…

"So, why are you here?" Quistis floated upside down, one hand wrapped around the rung of the ladder leading between the spacecraft's first and second decks.

Strapped to the wall by a cocoon of elastic webbing, Dahyte turned her head slightly in order to focus on the SeeD. "This is important to my mission."

"How?" Quistis was genuinely confused. "How could the sorceress have anything to do with your orders?"

"I can't tell you." Dahyte rotated in the zero-gravity sleeping bag until her back was turned on Quistis.

"Why not?" The blond SeeD descended one rung further into the crew cabin.

"Because if you knew, you'd try to stop me." Dahyte closed her eyes.

"How do you know I won't do that anyway?" Still facing the SeeD sniper, Quistis pushed off of the last rung of the ladder and sailed across the small space to her own sleeping arrangements. "How do you know I won't try to sabotage this mission, after what you've said."

Dahyte turned to face the SeeD once more. Her piercing gaze was cold, analytical. '_I know you_' it said. "You won't." 

Quistis suppressed the urge to rub away the goose bumps that had appeared on her forearms as she slid into the webbing that would hold her still as she slept. _As if I'm going to be able to sleep with that… thing… in the cabin._ However, Dahyte eventually did turn back until she was facing away from the tall SeeD, allowing Quistis to relax slightly. Slowly, slowly, the peaceful weightlessness—coupled with the soft whir of the air recirculation systems lulled Quistis into a light doze, then a deep slumber.

On the command deck of the Galbadian spacecraft, the pilot turned to the commanding officer of the platoon of soldiers that had been assigned as escorts to the two SeeDs. "You know, I know this is none of my business, but didn't I see—on the news—that those two SeeDs had been banished from Galbadia not too long ago?"

The Galbadian Secret Service squad commander favored him with an icy stare from the copilot's seat. "You're right. It is none of your business."

The spacecraft had been coasting toward its orbital insertion point near the moon for several hours, onboard computer making periodic course adjustments, so the pilot felt comfortable taking his hands off the controls long enough to gesture with them. "Okay, okay, man. This is your show, so I'll let you handle the troops. But we've got to make a few changes in the flight plan."

The SS man's eyes narrowed. "What kind of changes.

"Well, for starters, there's the wreckage of the Eshtarian moonbase. Most of it's still in orbit in band of debris that—from what the radar is picking up—stretches all the way around the moon. Our original flight plan takes us right through that stuff, so I'm going to have to change it." The pilot replied.

"Do it." The Galbadian said shortly.

Changing the insertion orbit, it turned out, resulted in a variety of course, speed, and landing site corrections, and the exchange between the pilot and squad commander lasted quite some time. While they checked and counter-checked orders, radar imagery, and schedules, the moon swelled until it filled the entire view from the forward viewports. 

After the initial burn to place the spacecraft into a transfer orbit to the moon, the booster stages of the rocket had fallen away. What remained of the craft looked like an elongated soda can with a blunt nose and stubby wings in the front, and a large engine bell and hemispherical fuel tanks in the rear. 

Designed specifically for lunar landings—in order to service a base on the lunar surface that was later decided to be too impractical to build—the spacecraft would separate into two parts upon entering orbit around the moon. The forward section would use a set of small wings to take advantage of the moon's air to slow the craft after it passed through the atmospheric entry phase of the mission. Retro-rockets on the underside of the aerospace plane would set the craft down gently on a pair of skids once it descended to a point close to the insertion team's destination. The same rockets would fire a second time to lift it off the ground upon completion of the mission. A final booster pack would then ignite and send the craft back up into lunar orbit where it would dock with the second half of the spacecraft. This half acted simply as an orbiting fuel station. Upon docking, the aerospace plane would re-fill it's tanks and make a final burn that would take it into a course that ended in atmospheric re-entry over Galbadia. Provided that everything went as planned—that was.

The roar of the engine—though muted by the cabin's pressure bulkheads—was, coupled with the light touch of acceleration, enough to rouse Quistis into wakefulness. Casting about, she noted that Dahyte's sleeping webbing was empty. Moments later, a Galbadian Special Forces commando floated down through the hatch leading to the main deck. He caught himself on a convenient handhold arresting his motion several feet from the SeeD. Courteously righting himself so that he was oriented right side up to   
Quistis, he addressed her. "We'll be separating from the orbital module in three zero minutes. You'll need to come up to the launch deck five minutes before that." 

Quistis favored the man with a small smile. "Thank you uh, Mr. Drake." Quistis read from the commando's nametag.

"You can call me Hal—at least when the captain's not around—and you're welcome, Miss Trepe." Hal Drake said. Flipping upside-down again with practiced ease, he ascended back up to the main deck.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and blinking in the sterile brightness of the spacecraft's internal white lighting, Quistis busied herself with the peculiar aspects of zero-g grooming in the ship's tiny galley—converted into an extra sleeping chamber for the SeeDs. The ship had been designed to carry only a single squad of six Galbadian specialists and two pilots. However, because of the nature of the mission, rather than reduce the strength of the commando force by two—to make room for the SeeDs—the ship had been crammed with extra carbon dioxide filters, water, foodstuffs, suits, and bedding. The result was that Quistis and Dahyte had to catch what rest they could in the Galley during the express moonshot. 

Fortunately, the shortened nature of the mission—fuel-efficient moon missions usually took four days to transfer out to lunar insertion, the current mission would only take eighteen hours—prevented the situation from becoming too uncomfortable for the astronauts. 

As Quistis finished sponging off her face, hands, and feet—the only skin she could reach as most of her, like everyone else aboard, was encased in a skin-tight pressure suit which was more trouble than it was worth to remove for a more thorough bath—she checked her wrist chronometer. It was time to go.

In the silent brightness of space, the moon lay quiescent, it's white surface glowing like polished bone. Only in the inky darkness of the deepest craters—down where the magmic heat that had triggered the last lunar cry had not yet fully cooled—did winking red eyes gaze up at the newest star in the sky. Deep groaning growls issued from between racks of razor sharp teeth. Claws like pickaxe blades left deep score marks in the crater wall as the monster thrust its way up into the light. Standing on the rim of the blasted earth, perched on the frozen bodies of hundreds of other monsters, the dragon lifted its head skyward and roared a challenge to the intruder in the sky. Across the scarred surface of the moon, the cry was taken up by hundreds of other monsters, all climbing from the dying warmth of the planet's core to scream their fury at the alien lights—now two separate sparkles against the backdrop of stars. 

The two new stars chased each other across the moon's sky, turning into invisible dark spots as they crossed between the moon and the sun, and then again as they passed between the moon and the planet. Emerging from in front of the blue-and-white disc, the lights had drawn far apart. Gradually, the trailing light became brighter. Suddenly, it flared into a shooting star as the aerospace plane fell from the heavens. Howling at the flaming meteor, the dragons began to flap their leathery wings. At first, the cold stiffened their actions, the motions of their wings were jerky and uncoordinated, but as the movement heated their internal fires, several sprang from the ground, and began climbing into the black sky. 

"Radar shows several contacts climbing to meet us." The SS squad commander—still seated in the copilot's seat—informed the pilot. 

"It's okay, we're prepared for them." The pilot reached out with a gloved hand and stabbed a button below a darkened screen. 

On the outside of the spacecraft, four recessed doors slid back—three in the front, one in the rear—and four turreted miniguns extended outward on hydraulic pedestals. The spacecraft began to shake slightly in the disturbance caused by the turrets.

The screen above the button the pilot had pressed lit up, displaying a spacecraft-shaped icon in the center of a green grid. Light yellow cones denoted the firing arcs of the aerospace plane's weaponry. 

Behind the cockpit—strapped into his acceleration couch, Hal Drake twisted slightly to face toward Quistis. "Feel that shuddering? They've unmasked the gunports." 

Quistis, who had been facing forward, turned her head. "What does that mean?" 

Hal shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably still some monsters active after that last lunar cry. They don't like visitors. I think that's why we never built the moonbase these things were supposed to supply."

Quistis could not think of anything to say, but it turned out not to matter, as the noise from the firing of one of the forward miniguns filled the cabin, making further conversation impossible.

Still two miles from the descending spacecraft, a Blue Dragon was swatted from the sky as a stream of depleted uranium rounds sliced it neatly in half. The death of the dragon, however, acted as no deterrent to the other flying monsters , as they continued to climb—attempting to place themselves in the path of the aerospace plane. 

The pilot chuckled as the computer-controlled targeting mechanism on the bottom forward minigun neatly picked off every member of a flock of Thrustaevis one mile in front of the spacecraft. "Pretty smooth piece of machinery, eh?" He elbowed the SS man gently.

"Just keep your eyes on the controls." The Galbadian squad commander was—as usual—not in a conversational mood. 

As the spacecraft settled into a slow glide, the rear minigun began firing almost continuously as the flocking monsters swarmed up in the wake of the descending craft. The ground was still several tens of thousands of feet below, but already, small herds of flightless monsters could be seen gathering and stomping toward the moon's terminator—tracking the aerospace plane's progress.

A worried frown creased the pilot's face. "A lot of activity here… hope the ammo holds out." He glanced at the downward-looking radar screen. "Woa! We're gonna have an interesting landing." A gloved finger flipped a toggle. 

On the underside of the spacecraft, twin folding doors slid back and three racks loaded with tv-guided glide bombs cycled into place. 

"Think I'll just thin things out a bit…" The pilot reached for an arming toggle only to find his hand restrained by the SS man. 

"Wait." The Secret Service agent released the pilot.

Gripping the control yolk firmly, the pilot sighed. "You guys sure like to play it close, don't you?"

Moments later, an alarm buzzer sounded in the cockpit as a Ruby Dragon flashed by the forward windscreen, spraying the outer hull of the spacecraft with its flaming breath. Unscathed by the attack, the craft shuddered as all four gun turrets opened up simultaneously when the dragon banked into the intersection of firing zones. A split second later, nothing remained of the monster but a fine red mist.

"Shit! That was too close!" The pilot exclaimed, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. "It's too active down here. I'm boosting us back into orbit." He flipped the plastic guard covering the booster ignition switch up.

Again, the Galbadian squad leader restrained him. "No. Follow the flight path. Land this spacecraft."

All four cannon now firing simultaneously, the aerospace plane wallowed sluggishly through the thickening atmosphere of the lower altitudes. In the main cabin, commandos and SeeDs alike fought down rising nausea brought on by the capricious return of gravity as the craft pitched and rolled with the pilot's attempts to dodge the thickest swarms of flying monsters. Muffled thumps of bodies hitting the skin of the spacecraft echoed through the metal hull. 

The spacecraft passed across the terminator and into the moon's shadow. Abruptly, the miniguns fell silent except for the hissing of their overheated barrels. A deathly silence filled the main cabin, broken only by the moaning of the slipstream over the open bomb-bay doors.

At the edge of the light—just short of the moon's dark side, clouds of flying monsters circled, screeching furiously and fighting amongst themselves. But, though the fires of primal rage still glowed in their eyes as they tracked the receding glimmer of the spacecraft, not a single monster dared set foot, or wing over, the dark side of the moon.

"They've stopped!" The pilot checked his rear screens. "They won't cross into the darkness."

"It's too cold for them." The SS man recited from his mission book. "They can't survive without the heat of the sun." 

Switching on the spacecraft's landing lights for the final approach to the target, the pilot sighed. "Well, that's a relief." 

The spacecraft fell below its stall speed, an the pilot engaged the retro-rockets. A look through the forward viewports revealed eerily twisted spires of white rock that appeared suddenly out of a murky mist that the landing lights could not penetrate. As the aerospace plane descended, the dark fog thickened until visibility was reduced to just a few feet and the pilot was forced to rely on the craft's downward-looking radar to avoid collisions. Eyes glued to his instruments, the pilot switched on the intercom and began counting down the time before touchdown. "Thirty seconds… twenty… fifteen…"

Still acting as copilot, the SS man confirmed automated operations on the landing checklist. "Main skids down and locked… airspeed down to twenty…" He reached over and flicked a toggle. "Bomb bay doors closed, master arming switch off." He glanced at the pilot, but the man was too busy concentrating on landing the spacecraft to notice.

In the deployment lounge, the landing sequence was relayed to the soldiers strapped into their couches through the roaring of the rockets and the myriad whines and thumps of the spacecraft's landing hydraulics. Quistis clamped her lips down on a gasp as the lighting switched from bright white to dull red with an audible popping, while at the same time, the pilot rolled the craft to the right to avoid a rocky spire that had appeared from nowhere.

"Careful!" The SS man's composure cracked as the wing of the aerospace plane scraped loudly against the tower of stone. 

"Goddammit!" The pilot was sweating profusely. He motioned toward his radar screen. "Screen's all clogged with bad echos and radar ghosts—**shit**!" He hauled back violently on the control yoke, bringing the craft to a standstill in midair.

"What!? What is it?!" The squad leader leaned over, but the radar screen was empty.

"There was a contact! I swear! We were heading straight for it!" The pilot stammered, pushing the yoke forward, settling the craft into its final descent.

"Damn, can't trust the radar in this stuff. We'll have to scout the takeoff area ahead on foot before we can leave." The SS man growled as the spacecraft landed with a soft thud. As the whine of the fuel pumps faded away, he unstrapped himself and ducked back into the deployment lounge. 

Quistis slowly loosened her grip on the armrests of her acceleration couch and opened her eyes. She was greeted by Hal's grinning face. "Exciting ride, huh?" He reached toward the buckles to Quistis's crash harness. "Here, lemme help you with those."

She blocked him with a forearm. "No thank you, Mr. Drake." 

The commando shrugged and pulled his hands back. "Suit yourself." He turned, and busied himself with his breath mask and backpack.

Quistis tried, unsuccessfully, for nearly two minutes to unfasten her harnesses, but each time, she found her hands shook too violently for her to do anything but paw ineffectively at the latches. _What's wrong with me? _At last, disgusted with herself, she relented. "Uh, Mr. Drake?"

The Special Forces commando had her out of the restraints and on her feet in seconds. "Don't worry about it." He kept a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Happens to everybody their first time up." He nodded toward Dahyte—who was being assisted by another commando.

Quistis gleaned some small comfort from the faintly miserable expression on the SeeD sniper's face as she leaned against the uniformed woman for support. "Why?"

Hal shrugged. "Dunno. But you and your friend didn't do too bad. Most lose their lunches on the first ride."

Quistis smiled greenly. "I believe it. Did you?"

"Yeah." The soldier shrugged. "Don't worry, you'll be fine in another five minutes."

A slight shudder ran through the craft accompanied by a noise like a giant zipper. Quistis looked up. "The cannon?"

Hal frowned. "Sure sounds like it. Sorry, Miss Trepe, but I gotta go. Looks like our landing area is a little less friendly than intel had hoped."

Quistis waved him off. "I'll be fine." By the time she finished speaking, he was already crouched with the rest of the squad at the edges of the still-closed landing ramp.

Twice more, the sound of gunfire rang through the cabin. The man Quistis assumed to be the squad leader disappeared into the cockpit for a moment, then emerged. No more gunfire sounded from outside. "The computer was shooting at sensor ghosts. We've had to shut down the cannon." The man explained. "Our zone should be clear, but use caution while securing the area." 

In the bright murk beneath the lights of the spacecraft, whorls of drifting mist obscured all but the closest objects. The six-man team of masked commandos descended from the red dimness of the craft's interior and immediately disappeared into the fog. A moment later, two more figures made their way—still a bit unsteadily—down the landing ramp.

The masks the commandos and SeeDs wore were an interesting affair. Made up of an airtight clear faceplate who's molding sealed it securely to the head, the remainder of the apparatus consisted of a drapery of body armor that slid snugly down over the soldiers' shoulders, and was buckled around both legs. Packaged with the flexible Kevlar armor were battery cells, medication dispensers, communications system, miniature spotlights, and a dozen pockets for additional items or ammunition.

Quistis squinted through breath mask's faceplate, into the mist. The heads-up display built into the mask showed her the positions of the six commandos and the SeeD sniper, but beyond that, it offered little help piercing the soupy fog. Nervously, she unlimbered her weapon. 

The loud voice in her ear made Quistis jump. "Everything, okay, Miss Trepe?" It was Hal again. A white box appeared around the green circle that denoted his position. "Your communications equipment working all right?" 

Twisting the volume control knob down a few notches, Quistis began to nod—then realized that there was no way the soldier could see the gesture. "Everything's fine." She said, while depressing the person-to-person transmission button.

Another voice cut off Hal's response. "All units report in." It was the squad leader on the command frequency.

One-by-one the six members of the Special Forces unit reported that they were in position and had observed no activity. "Not that there's a whole hell of a lot we can see out here, Sir." Said the last commando to check in. "Infrared and motion sensors are all screwed up too. I keep getting contacts all over the range—appearing and disappearing."

"That's a negative on the interference, Ilyan." Hal's voice rang over the communications link. "My scopes are clear."

"Well, then mine must be mal—holy shit!!" The transmission ended suddenly and Quistis heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire from the fog to her right. 

Wasting not a second, the SeeD—whip coiled loosely in one hand—sprinted toward the sounds of combat. A small clearing in the swirling fog ahead revealed a dark figure, crouched with his rifle held to his shoulder. The man fired again, and Quistis saw a small floating shape shudder with the impact of the bullets. Even as she skidded to a stop at the edge of her striking distance, the Red Scorpion was whistling through the air. Its barbed tip caught the monster square in its grinning face, and the floating beast was smashed to the ground where it lay, unmoving. 

Quistis heard a low whistle in her headphones. A flashing icon indicated that it came from a squad member somewhere behind her. She turned as Hal strolled up. "Damn, Miss Trepe. They sure teach you SeeDs how to fight good."

Quistis shrugged slightly. "It was already injured."

"Still…" Hal turned to face the commando who was just now rising from his firing position. "You okay, Ilyan? It didn't Zombie you or anything?"

"I'm fine." The commando shook his masked head. "It was the damndest thing… that monster just floated there and shook. Didn't try to dodge, didn't fight back—it was like it was frozen in place or something."

"Maybe it was too cold."A third soldier, walking up, suggested. 

"No, temperatures here are too high. Heck, it's almost comfortable outside. Almost seemed like it was too stupid to move." Ilyan answered. 

"Or too scared." Someone added.

The mist closed in over the soldiers—now all assembled around Ilyan and Quistis as an uneasy silence fell over the group. 

"Well, it had good reason to be." Hal said, in a tone of forced levity. "Our guest here is about the meanest fighter I've ever seen." He tried moving in to drape a comradely arm around Quistis, but she dodged him.

The SeeD was about to speak, when the squad leader's voice broke in over the radio. "We've established a linkup with the orbiting second stage. Its sensors indicate that the target is only about a quarter of a mile west our landing site."

There were numerous murmurs of approval over the open channel. 

"We're right on top of it."

"Great, let's grab the package and get the hell outta here."

"Things are starting to look up."

Several minutes later, Quistis was following close behind Hal as they lead the squad—in two-man teams—toward the suspected location of the Sapphire Dream. Suddenly, he stopped, causing Quistis to nearly collide with him. "What is it?" The murky darkness that surrounded them—even enhanced by the infrared sensors of the mask—caused Quistis to keep her voice down to a whisper.

"Another Blood Soul. It's not moving either." Hal motioned ahead with two fingers.

Quistis peered into the darkness. Sure enough, ahead of them, blocking the path between knobby white stone spires, floated the small monster—permanently fixed on its features was the standard skeletal grin. But, unlike any Blood Soul Quistis had ever encountered, this one simply hung in mid-air, vibrating violently. 

She was about to speak, when suddenly a deep throbbing rumble that seemed to shake the very stone upon which they stood engulfed the SeeD and commando. The lights attached to their masks faltered, plunging the pair into darkness even as the internal image-enhancers shut down. In the utter blackness and total silence that surrounded her, Quistis's panicky breathing was the only sound. It was deafeningly loud in her ears. 

After what seemed like an eternity of listening to her own heart palpitating—the air in her mask growing stale—there came a quiet buzz from the circulation fan as it restarted, and a breath of fresh air brushed her cheek. She sighed in relief as the heads-up display quickly processed through it's reboot cycle. Just as her infrared optics came back online, the mask's lights clicked back on. In the suddenly bright mist, Quistis could see that Hal was crouched before her, rifle out, tracking blindly back and forth across the Blood Soul's last position. She squinted into the mist and blinked—the monster was gone.

However, the floating demon was not the only thing missing. Quistis turned to look behind her and felt something cold slide down her throat when she realized that the icons denoting the location of the other squad members, the ship, and Dahyte had all disappeared. 

"What the hell was that?" Hal finally found his voice.

"I don't know, but I think we're alone now." Quistis fingered the grip of her weapon nervously.

"What do you… oh." Turning toward the last known position of the rest of the squad, Hal's fingers tapped at the communications pad strapped to his left wrist as he tried to raise the squad commander, ship, anyone. "Nothing." He said at length.

"Let's backtrack a bit. The second pair should be right behind us." Quistis suggested.

"Right." Squinting at the green directional marks at the top of his heads-up display, Hal swung about. "This way," he pointed.

After a few moments silent march, Quistis stopped. "Wait a minute." She shook her head. "This isn't the way we came."

"What? Are you sure about that?" Hal checked his bearings again. "No, we're going the right way." 

"Oh yeah?" Quistis raised an arm. "Then what the hell is **that**?" 

Hal squinted. Ahead—like a shroud being drawn aside—the mist cleared momentarily, and the pair's mask lights revealed the angular outlines of a spidery structure hunched against the rocky soil. He whistled quietly. "I don't remember passing **that** on the way out here."

"But we should have been heading back to the ship." Quistis's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"That disturbance must have scrambled our suit's navigational systems." Hal looked over his shoulder into the murky darkness from which they had come. "Damn, there's no way we're going to be able to get our bearings in this stuff."

Quistis nodded toward the squat black monolith before them. "Maybe there's something in there that can help us." 

Hal shrugged. "Better than staying out here, I guess." 

Suit lights playing across the twisted metal of a heavy pressure door—ripped from its rails and now hanging against one wall of what appeared to be a large airlock—Quistis reached up and ran a gloved hand over the cold surface. "I guess Galbadia went ahead with this place after all."

Crouching down to inspect a set of parallel gashes rent in the metal plates of the floor of the airlock, Hal shook his head. "I don't think so. Look at the weathering on this material. These tears are all rusted out. Whatever happened to destroy this chamber, it occurred before the Sorceress War. This place is _old_." 

Quistis grimaced behind her mask as she stepped through a gaping hole torn in the inner door of the airlock. "I hope you're right. I wouldn't want to run into whatever did this."

"Yeah, well, we probably won't have that problem, this is pr—HOLY…!" Quistis whirled at her partner's exclamation.

The commando had flattened himself against the wall of the hallway into which the airlock opened. His weapon was out, its muzzle pointed at something illuminated in the beams of his suit lights. "What… the… fuck… is that _thing_?!"

The SeeD peered forward and gasped. During her time as a mercenary, Quistis had seen a good number of strange monsters, but nothing she had ever encountered could have prepared her for this. Illuminated in the lights of the pair, lay the desiccated corpse of a bipedal monster. At first, Quistis had though the thing a human, but the skeletal remains of two appendages that sprouted from the beast's shoulders set that notion to rest. The extra arms faced backward to the thing's grinning skull. They were made up of long, delicate bones that swept backward and spread to the sides of the monster's body. "Almost like wings…" she breathed.

"Yeah, bat wings." Recovering his voice, Hal pointed to the tatters of leathery flesh and sinew that still hung from a joint in the crushed bones. "Looks like this thing saw some of the action at the front door," he observed. 

Indeed, it did appear as if the monster had died from some form of trauma. The two wing-like structures were broken in several places, and the body of the thing was partially imbedded in a corpse-shaped impression in the metal wall. Its clawed hands were thrown back, palms outward, while it's broken jaw hung askew from a single remaining joint. 

Hal felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. It almost looked like the skeletal corpse was spreading its hands in supplication to those who might find it here. "Except… where's the left leg?" Something crunched under his boot. "Oh, here it is. Damn." He took a few steps back from the leg, foot, and wickedly sharp curved claws that protruded from bones of the toes and foot spur.

"And here's the right hand." Quistis fought down the sensation of nausea that rose in her throat. The monster's claws had dug into the handle of a hatch set into the side of the passageway, attaching the hand firmly to the lever even while the body had been ripped away. "Hey, I think this is an escape hatch." She squinted at the rusting symbols etched into a plate on the door. "This writing looks vaguely familiar." She shook her head. "I can't read it, though."

Hal stepped over to the door. "Looks like you're right. I wonder if there's still a ship behind there?" He ran a finger across a claw jammed into the metal. "Well, now we know what happened to this base's inhabitants."

"You think these things killed them?" Quistis turned to him. 

Hal shrugged. "Must have. See, this one was probably guarding the escape." He swallowed. "They were smart bastards." Looking around furtively, he said: "Hope we don't run into any grandkids around here."

"You just _had_ to say that, didn't you." Quistis shuddered.

The cones of light cast by their suit's illumination were visible in the floating dust of the blackened corridor as the pair moved deeper into the abandoned moonbase. As they crept through the oppressive, tunnel-like darkness, their beams illuminated several more corpses—all seemed to have expired in a violent manner similar to the first. The infrared detectors, however, stayed thankfully blank. The base was completely devoid of life.

Suddenly, through her boots, Quistis felt a shudder pass through the flooring under her feet. The SeeD and commando froze, each dropping to opposite sides of the corridor and bracing themselves against the walls. "Look." Hal pointed at the cone of light cast by his suit. 

Quistis squinted. At first, she saw nothing, then she noticed that the floating dust particles—rather than drifting in random swirls—were now drifting in uniform motion toward them. "Something down there," she waved down the black hole their lights disappeared into, "is moving the air."

The lights attached to Hal's mask bobbed as he nodded. "Do you hear that?" He cocked his head to the side, listening. A faint clicking noise filled the pair's helmets as their external microphones picked up the sound resonating through the stale air.

"It's getting closer." Quistis shook out her whip. 

Far down in the dark depths of the hallway, something flickered. Hal dropped to one knee and raised his rifle to his shoulder. "Yup." He grimaced fatalistically.

Moments later, the soldier and SeeD lowered their weapons and grinned sheepishly at each other. With a loud series of clicks, some of the hallway lights had flared to life. The clicking noise was now receding back toward the entrance.

"Looks like somebody hit the lights." Hal observed, unnecessarily.

"Hey, Hal. Join the party." A suited figure with the name Arbonte sewn over his left breast waved an arm from the group of commandos gathered around the computer console.After passing another dozen or so corpses in the now-lit hallway, Quistis and Hal had emerged into the chamber that held the rest of the Special Forces team, Dahyte, and—surprisingly—a working computer terminal.

Ilyan, the team's linguist, was busily tapping away at a dusty input station. Three other commandos stood guard at the remaining entrances to the chamber, while the remainder of the team stood around the large display screen set into one wall. As was the case in the hallway Quistis and Hal had emerged from, about one-quarter of the lights in the room were working, their red bulbs casting a subdued glow over the assembled warriors. 

"Fashionably late, as usual, I see." Arbonte observed, arms akimbo. 

"Whatever, Dailas." Hal waved an arm dismissively. "We got caught up in traffic. Kept askin' this dead thing for directions, but he wasn't talking."

"What, you see another Blood Soul? Things're freakin' everywhere outside." Dailas Arbonte said, walking over.

"No, we saw one just before our systems went nuts," Hal shook his head. "but he left before we could get a conversation started."

"So you got that too? Any idea what caused it?" Dailas tapped at his mask.

"Nope, figure it's just like this fog over the LZ; military snafu." Hal shrugged.

Quistis broke in. "Snafu?"

Turning to her, Hal grinned and turned up the volume on his external speaker so that his voice filled the room. "Situation Normal:"

"All Fucked Up!" Came a chorus from the others.

"Ain't that the truth?" Dailas laughed. Switching tracks, he continued. "So, if you weren't talking to a Blood Soul, who else did you meet around here?"

Hal waved an arm back down the corridor from which he and Quistis had emerged. "Humanoid corpses. Not like anything I've ever seen. Got wings on 'em or something. Big claws too." 

Quistis cocked her head. "You haven't seen any of them?" She asked Dailas. 

The commando shook his head. "No, everybody was just talking about how empty this place was, we figured everybody got out when they shut the thing down."

"Who do you think? Estharians?" Hal looked around.

"No," came a shout from Ilyan, still hunched over the input console. "Centra."

"Wow. This place _is_ old." Hal whistled. "I bet they got shut down when the Lunar Cry wiped out their support systems back on the planet. Well, doesn't look like they made it out. There's an escape hatch that looks like it leads to a launch area. Those monsters are all over it—like they were trying to keep the Centra from leaving. I bet the rocket's still on the pad."

"It is. Take a look." With a final tap on the keypad, Ilyan looked up and pointed to the cracked viewscreen. The image behind the glass flashed from strings of indecipherable characters to an aerial view of the layout of a building that could only be the Centra Moonbase. From a central hub, three corridors branched outward, terminating in smaller hubs that also branched out in sets of three corridors—all lined by smaller rooms. One of the secondary hubs flashed. "See, we're here." Then a side corridor flashed. "The auxiliary generator that Dahyte and Natasha activated is here." The flashing now moved to another side corridor and a passageway that branched off to a flat octagonal structure. "And here is the launch pad. If I'm reading this right, there's a shuttle all fueled up and ready to go sitting there." Ilyan shrugged. "Or at least it was about a thousand years ago. Who knows what's happened since then?"

"Pretty damn good, Ilyan." Hal grinned. "Who says the Centra dialect is a dead tongue?"

Ilyan smiled back. "But wait, that's not all…" With a flourish, he pressed a key on his console. The central hub of the base began to flash. "Here, you have your biogenetics labs, your crystal diffraction laser work areas, main power generator, and research area devoted solely to the study of a large gem called… The Sapphire… uh, Dream." He folded his arms smugly across his chest as cheers broke out from the assembled commandos.

A few moments later, Quistis, Dahyte, Hal, and Dailas found themselves in a larger, better lit, corridor, making their way toward the central hub of the moonbase. "How we lookin', Ilyan?" Hal transmitted over the newly-restored communications linkup between the Special Forces team. 

"Right on course. I've got you on the station's internal motion sensors." Came the static-free reply.

Quistis looked over at Hal as she walked. "I can't believe this place is still here after all these years—and that everything still works."

The commando shrugged. "Well, the Centra built things to last, I guess. Just look at the Gardens. Those things are almost as old as this base." He was about to say more, but a voice from the group's radios cut him off.

"Ok, Hal? Natasha and Ray are in the communications room. They've already raised the ship… and our _bold and illustrious_ leader, who just happened to stay behind—where it's safe." Even through the modulation of the radio microphone, Ilyan's voice dripped sarcasm. "Switch frequency to one-one-four-oh-point-oh to re-establish a connection."

"Right." Hal nodded to the three other members of the team dispatched to retrieve the crystal. "Everybody get that?"

The group paused for a moment, giving Hal and Dailas time to make a quick report to the secret service man who—after recent events—sounded more than a little nervous. 

Breaking the link, Dailas shook his head. "I don't like the sound of that guy's voice."

Behind his breath mask, Hal grimaced. "Yeah, he's getting pretty spooked. Let's grab the package and make the extraction asap."

At length, the four-person team arrived at the end of the passageway. Before them, two enormous doors guarded the entrance to the laboratories clustered around the base's central hub. 

Quistis ran a hand over the smooth metal. "Completely unmarked. These doors could have been built yesterday." She rapped her knuckles on their painted surface. The thick material barely made any noise at all. "Sounds like they're thick—really thick."

Stepping up behind her, Hal grinned. "Makes you wonder what they were trying to keep out—or in."

"Hey!" Dailas frowned, looking around at the flickering dim red lighting, the strangely built ancient hallway, and the alien characters scribed into the door's surface. "Look, I'm already creeped out enough without that kind of crap, huh?"

Hal scuffed his feet. "Alright, sorry. Just playin' with ya. He pressed a button on his wrist communications pad. "Ilyan, how do we open this door?"

"Oh, sorry, Hal. I can do it from here." There was a pause. "Before you guys go in though, you probably should know what was going on in those labs." Before anyone could protest, Ilyan's voice continued.

"The first lab you're going to enter is the biogen lab. I was hunting through the archives, and came across the research summary for it. And get this: during the last few years this base was operational, the Centra were working on a mutagenic virus they created, for themselves." The transmission paused for effect.

Deciding to humor the linguist, Hal sighed and prompted him. "Yeah? So what does that mean?"

"It means that they were trying to mutate themselves, rapidly." Came the reply.

"What the hell would they want to do that for? And what were they trying to mutate into?" Dailas placed his hands on his hips.

"Well, you know those monsters Hal and Quistis said they saw on the way in?" Not waiting for an answer, Ilyan continued. "Those things didn't kill the Centra on this base… they _were_ the Centra!"

"Ilyan, that doesn't make any sense!" Hal said angrily. "I mean, why would any sane person want to transform himself into a monster like that, let alone an entire station full of people?"

"Think about it, Hal." Ilyan sounded excited now. "Did you see any breath masks on those monsters when you came in? Do you remember how I showed you that the filters and oxygen reserves on this base are all used up? See the connection?"

Hal took a step back from the door. "No way!" He shook his head. "So you're saying that…"

"…after the re-supply shuttles stopped coming from Centra, the base personnel—rather than take the escape rocket back to the planet—decided to try use their technology to mutate themselves into monsters that could live here on the moon; that could breath the moon's atmosphere." Ilyan finished proudly. "Although, from the images I'm seeing here, and what you described, there are some nasty physiological side effects—you know, wings and all."

"But what could be so important that they'd all want to stay here so damn badly?" Dalias asked. 

"The Sapphire Dream." Quistis whispered, almost to herself, but the mask microphone picked up her words.

"That's right." Ilyan still sounded excited. "They must have thought that thing was damn important. All the files on it are so heavily encrypted, it'd take me years just to get into the executive summary."

Though Hal's mask obscured his face, his body language indicated pensiveness. "But… if those things didn't kill—"

Dalias waved his arms. "No! Don't say it! Ok? We're all thinkin' it, so there's no need to say it!" 

Quistis shivered along with Dalias. _If those monsters we saw weren't killed by the moonbase personnel, then what did kill them?_

"Anyway," it was Ilyan again, "All the motion detectors in the labs are dead, so I don't know if anything's in there." He paused for a moment. "There is a chance that… well, these records I'm looking at indicate that the Centra mutants were projected to have a huge lifespan—they seem to have integrated a gene that prevents cellular degradation with age…"

"So we might meet some of the base's owners?" Hal asked.

"Probably not. Log's show that that door hasn't been opened for a thousand years—ever since… whatever it was… happened to this place, but you never know." Ilyan's voice was interrupted by a click. "Okay, it should be opening now."

As the linguist had predicted, the corridor began to reverberate with the low groaning of metal sliding on rusted metal. A black line appeared between the junction of the two massive doors. Dust sifted down from the ceiling as the noise intensified to a grinding screech, and the black line became a gaping maw—lined by the door's hexagonal interlocking teeth. The light from the hallway did not spill into the inner sanctum of the moonbase. Rather, darkness of the interior chambers seemed to suck the feeble emergency lighting in, and swallow it whole. 

There was an ear-splitting scream of deforming metal, and the doors stopped—halfway open. Long strands of dust and detritus streamed out of the darkness toward the group, catching on the jagged teeth of the doors and fluttering in a warm gust of air that washed over them—the fetid breath from the bowls of the ancient station.

Shaking his head, Dalius stepped through the entryway, rifle at his shoulder, the light attached to its barrel sweeping through the musky darkness. "Hoo boy..." 

Deep in one of the darkest corners of the laboratory, a glittering eye watched as, from the reddened opening, four figures stepped into the inky blackness. One figure turned toward the thing, its suit lights glinting dully on sharp, scimitar-like foot claws. As the person approached, iridescent rainbows washed over the frilled scales on the thing's legs, shivering across its armored hide in swirling patterns of deadly light.

Quistis squinted into the dimness. "Hey… I think I see something." She took another step forward.

As the masked figure looked up, the glare of its suit lights fell full upon the thing's alien countenance. Reflective corneas flashed in the brilliance.

"OH MY GOD!!" Quistis gasped, even as her ingrained training flicked the Red Scorpion's tail out to strike. The crack of the whip breaking the sound barrier filled the chamber, causing everyone to jump again, after the SeeDs initial exclamation.

Decapitated by the flail, the molded plastic statue tipped to one side. The head fell to the floor with a tinkle of breaking glass. 

Hal stepped over to the SeeD. "Well, congratulations, Miss Trepe. I'd say you've successfully neutralized the mannequin." He chuckled, bending down to scoop up the model's plastic head. Turning the human-yet alien features toward her, he worked the hinged jaw. "I'm thinkin' that there lady's a little trigger-happy, Hal." He turned the head with one shattered glass eye toward himself. "Yup, Tex, I reckon you're right." He grinned. 

Still breathing quickly, Quistis managed a faint grimace. "Real cute."

"Hey, guys?" Dalias was motioning from the doorway to the next room. "Can we get a move on? This place is really damn creepy."

"Well, I guess turning themselves into monsters didn't change their minds, if they were able to make models like that one. …hey, Ilyan, any joy with some lights in here?" Hal said, stepping deeper into the core of the moonbase.

"Negative, Hal. I think that's the least of your worries right now." The voice over the radio sounded upset, though it was hard to tell as the link had suddenly become filled with static. 

"I don't like the sound of that, Ilyan." Hal stopped, and looked back toward the entryway.

"Something's interfering with radio communications. Our contact with the shuttle is breaking up. Last transmission I received… they said they were picking up some strong motion signatures moving at the limits of their range. I don't think they were talking about sensor ghosts this time—and they sounded pretty panicky too." Ilyan's voice was cut-off by a loud raspberry of static. The channel cleared a moment later. "—ost contact with the communications team. I've—"

"Okay, that's really bad." Hal turned to the rest of the team as the radio link broke down into random noise again. "Everybody back to the secondary hub. We're pulling out."

"What about the package?" Dahyte spoke for the first time in several hours.

Hal raised his hand and pointed in the general direction of the shuttle-landing zone. "That ship is our only ticket off this rock and, not that I don't place my full trust in the courage of the Galbadian SS men, but—in case our illustrious commander decides to speed up our departure timetable—I fully intend to be on that shuttle when she lifts. Stone or no stone."

The sniper's lip turned downward a hair, but the change of expression was lost behind the thick plastic of her breath mask.

"This can't be right…" Ilyan muttered to himself as he tapped furiously away at the motion-sensor display. "They can't all be going off at the same time… most of these passageways read as being sealed… no way there's something moving in there." He turned away from the computer station. "Don't ya think…" Ilyan trailed off. The commando who had been assigned to guard the hub he was gone. 

Ilyan's first instinct was to call out to the man, but his training overrode it. Instead, ever-so-slowly, he reached down to the ammunition belt and grenades clipped around his waist. He removed two of the explosive devices and—still moving with infinite slowness, pulled the pins from both grenades. In a heartbeat, the bombs were in the air, and Ilyan's feet were pounding down the hallway leading to the central hub of the station. Behind him, instead of the reverberating blast of two unshielded grenades, there came two muffled whumping noises—as if the explosives had been wrapped in hundreds of layers of cotton, or hundreds of layers of flesh.

From the silent manner in which they moved, Ilyan knew what they were. When he had come across the records in the Centra database, he had skimmed the files—assuming the creatures to be long dead, or departed for parts unknown. Ilyan had decided that the mission would proceed much more smoothly if he did not mention the _Fingers of God_. Just as he had decided it best not to tell the others about the record that had reported the position of—not the Sapphire Dream, but rather—the _Sapphire Nightmare_.

…

Quistis, Dahyte, Hal, and Dalias were nearly halfway between the central hub and secondary junction of the moonbase when the sound of sprinting footfalls reached their ears. Dalias and Hal dropped to the sides of the corridor, taking advantage of the scant cover offered by the support ribs that lined the hallway—the same ribs that made it appear as if the group was walking through the stomach of a giant serpent. As they raised rifles to their shoulders, Dahyte's semiautomatic pistol appeared in her hand. She dropped to one knee and aimed the weapon into the red haze of dust that obscured their view. 

Down the passageway, a running figure resolved itself from the surrounding murk. It waved its arms at them even as it sprinted. "RUN!" Ilyan screamed.

"Hold your fire!" Hal warned.

Quistis's eyes widened. Behind the fleeing soldier, something _poured_ out of the red dimness. The thing was vaguely serpentine, while at the same time flowing like a viscous fluid, and it moved—like nothing she had ever seen. As Ilyan continued his headlong dash toward them, the thing flowed silently forward with incredible speed, pausing only a few feet behind the running man. A dark swaying pillar coiled upward to the ceiling, where it split into a dozen writhing snakes that swayed hypnotically in an unseen breeze. Faster than the eye could follow, the thing's appendages shot forward. There was a blur of motion, and Ilyan was gone. A single steel-toed boot arced through the air, landing a few feet away from the group. Quistis squinted. Not another trace that Ilyan had even existed could be found. Only the thing that now swayed from side-to-side occupied the hallway in front of them. 

Closer now, Quistis could make out that the monster was jet-black. Its skin glinted like midnight opals under the red emergency lighting as it weaved before them. The entire corridor behind the serpentine extrusion that now regarded the team of SeeDs and soldiers was filled with writhing coils of the thing. It rippled in agitation at these new beings before it, the oily black mass braiding, swirling, and melting back into itself. Suddenly, the 'head' of the thing shot upward again, bursting into a flower-shaped of black petals.

"Fire!" Hal shouted as he squeezed his own trigger. 

The silence of the monster was shattered by the roar of the two rifles and Dahyte's pistol. In the enclosed space, the noise was deafening.

The surface of the thing puckered as the rounds drilled into it, but the monster did not retreat. Instead, the spidery head blurred forward again, and Dalius's gun abruptly fell silent as he vanished without a sound. 

"SHIT! FALL BACK!" Having dropped his ineffectual weapon, Hal was already backpedaling, his hand falling to the grenades clipped to his belt.

Quistis was well ahead of the commando. The lenses of the breath masks automatically polarized at the glare of Ultima magic that erupted around the dark form of the monster, but turned clear again when the brilliance of the spell faded as it was engulfed by the thing. Glowing a dull green, the head of the monster swelled toward the two SeeDs and soldier. They barely managed to dive out of the way as the thing vomited the flaming ball of energy back at them.

Quistis found that she had—in her mad dive away from the reflected magic—fallen next to Hal. "Nice try." He mouthed through the clear plastic.

"Get back to the hub and shut the door!!" Quistis shouted even as she pushed herself to her feet, not waiting to see if he would acknowledge the order. 

The SeeD immediately had to flatten herself against the smooth metal plating of the floor as the thing repelled Dahyte's Blizzaga magic. Quistis allowed herself a slight smile as her ears picked up the sound of Hal's retreating footfalls. Moving even faster now, the monster again lunged forward, wrapping its oily appendages around—not the slender SeeD—but instead around the huge fiery demon that suddenly took her place.

Ifrit roared in wordless rage, and bolts of flame sizzled across the thing's form, shriveling the smooth opal skin wherever they touched. But still, the monster made no sound at all. A heavy spiked whip materialized from its undulating body and plunged its black daggers into the demon even as it brushed the Guardian Force into the wall of the corridor as easily as one swats a pesky mosquito. With a groaning growl, Ifrit faded into the melted metal crater its body had made in the wall. 

Quistis gasped and staggered as she reappeared, the sudden cold void in her mind where Ifrit had once resided sent her reeling backward—away from the liquid monster. 

With the defeat of the Guardian Force, the SeeDs ran. As they fled, the only noise in the corridor was the echoing of their boots pounding against the metal plates. Quistis could hear Dahyte running directly behind her, but she dared not turn around to see how close the silent blackness was following on their heels.

Abruptly, the duet of drumming footsteps became a solo. Quistis skidded to a halt and turned at the barking of Dahyte's .38 caliber pistol. The SeeD sniper was being lifted high in the air by a coil of six black snakes. Even as she fired her weapon into the monster with her left hand, Dahyte reached forward with her right and blasted the thing with a wash of Meltdown magic. Neither monster nor sniper made a sound. Suddenly, the thing's attacking appendage blurred, but the coils of the Red Scorpion wrapping around it arrested its motion. Boots sliding on the metal plates, Quistis flicked her wrist and the whip twisted from a pliable series of metal links into a constricting chain of a razor-toothed sawblade. She jerked the weapon, and it neatly separated the monster's appendage from the writhing mass of blackness that filled to corridor behind it. 

Dahyte was running again, even as she landed and Quistis was hard on her heels. Ahead of them, the dark maw of the inner hub loomed, but the space between the metal-toothed doors was narrowing. From between the closing jaws, Hal waved at them frantically. "Hurry up!" His voice crackled over their radios. "I can't stop them!"

They were ten feet from the opening when Quistis saw that they were not going to make it. From behind the SeeD sniper, her eyes told her that the opening was already too narrow for either SeeD to fit. She had to try, anyway.

Dahyte knew she wasn't going to make it. She cursed her weakness for not being able to muster the last bit of strength needed to lunge through those closing doors. _So close…_ And suddenly, miraculously, she was accelerating—not under her own power, but from the force exerted by a gloved hand placed squarely in the middle of her back. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, Dahyte was inside, and skidding across the floor of the laboratory on her side. She rolled to face the door even as she slid.

After shoving the SeeD through the doors, Quistis jumped. She made it—almost. Her head and shoulders made it through—scraping through a hole in the door's hexagonal teeth. The rest of her torso and hips also cleared the entryway, along with her left leg. It was only as the doors inched one micrometer closer together in the time it took for her knee and calf to clear the door that the space available became too small for the spur of Quistis's ankle bone. Her foot caught in the door. The jaws inched closer. The whites of her eyes showing with fear, Quistis twisted to look at the stuck appendage. Suddenly her faceplate was covered by a large hand, forcing her head down. 

"Quistis, don't!" Hal's voice was shouting in her ear, even as she felt someone's hand flip open the controls to her medical kit.

Dahyte had jammed her pistol in the doors even as a long knife appeared in her hand and slashed down at the grasping tendrils of the black thing that piled against the door. One spiked, finger-size appendage stabbed into Quistis's trapped leg before Dahyte could sever it from the thing outside.

Quistis felt the prick in her leg at the same time as the prick in her arm from the heavy dose of painkillers the Special Forces commando had keyed into her medical kit. The medication worked instantly. Quistis heard the squeal of the metal of the pistol's barrel as it was flattened between the doors. She also heard a strange crunching noise as her leg shook slightly, but—floating on the sea of morphine—she had only a passing interest in these things.

"Why did you do that, Quistis?" Dahyte looked down into the SeeD's unfocused eyes as they blinked beneath the scratched plastic faceplate.

Hal, finished with what bandaging and cauterizing he could do, looked up at the sniper from where he sat—beside the SeeD, his arms holding her head cradled in his lap.

"Do what…?" Quistis blinked slowly thorough the poison-and-drug-induced haze.

"Why did you…" Dahyte nearly winced. "Why did you save my life?"

Fuzzily, Quistis's eyes wandered around the room in which the group had taken shelter. It was the central research laboratory of the base. Even this many rooms in, the incessant, explosive banging of the thing on the huge doors to the laboratory echoed among the laser emitters, pressurized gas systems, and machines who's purpose one couldn't even guess at. Behind the overturned workbench against which Quistis and Hal rested, thick-windowed walls looked out on a small misty inner courtyard that sat under the poisonous foggy sky. A broken airlock allowed access to this tiny walled bit of the moon's surface. "What are friends for?" A distant smile glided across the SeeDs lips, and her eyes closed as she slept again.

Rising from where she had crouched, Dahyte stood and stepped over to the windows facing the courtyard. She was joined, a moment later, by Hal.

"We're in trouble, Dahyte." He shook his head. "I can't raise the shuttle, or anyone else. Those things out there..." He paused a moment. "…they're beginning to dent the inner surface of the doors, and if they figure out that this," he tapped the thick glass-like surface of the window, "is here, we're finished." He raised his left arm and checked a gauge set into the armor. "I'm also down to less than an hour of good air—I imagine you're close to that too." 

Dahyte nodded, but said nothing. 

"After this runs out, the emergency recirculation system will keep us alive another hour or two, but we won't be able to stay conscious with so little oxygen."  
He glanced over to where the incapacitated SeeD lay. "Quistis has about two hours left, but she's, well…"

"How is she?" The sniper didn't turn away from the dreary view.

Hal's brow furrowed. Impossibly, he thought he might have detected the slightest note of concern from the cold SeeD. He shook his head, from what little he had seen of the sniper's behavior, he had decided that she was a robot. "Not good. I've tried everything in the kit to counteract whatever poison that thing used, but it was all about as effective as that Esuna spell you tried." He blew out a quiet breath. "There's a more extensive set of antitoxins onboard the shuttle, but unless we can figure out a way past those _things_…" He left the rest unsaid.

As the soldier turned and walked away, Dahyte allowed herself to slide into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that faced the courtyard. The chair had been designed for a creature with two extra appendages but hunched forward as she was; Dahyte barely noticed the discomfort caused by the misshapen backrest. _'What are friends for?'_ The sniper rested her chin in one hand. _'He told us you were his friend' _Alone, looking out on the blasted rock of the dark side of the moon, for the first time in years, Dahyte's self-control cracked. She buried her facemask in her gloves. _Damn you Quistis. Damn you all for depending on me. Can't you see what I am? Can't you see that I can't help you? I can't help anyone._ The iron mask clamped over her emotions noted coldly that the suit's visor was fogging over. _I can't lead, I can't protect, I can't build. All I can do now… is destroy. _Making a last play for control of roiling emotions she had long thought snuffed under the weight of the lead encasing her heart, Dahyte forced herself to look up. She ground the shattered diamonds of the thought into the cracks in her outer façade to which she had tried so hard to mold her entire being. _You should have left me to die with that thing, Quistis Trepe._ The merciful coldness slowly began to return. _It was an error in judgment; trying to save me. It appears that it will be your last._ But the magmic heat of her emotions refused to be frozen by the icily analytical thoughts.

_But it wasn't a mistake, Dahyte. Quistis didn't make a judgmental error… and neither did Samo._ The tiny voice whispered in her mind. _No, they saved you because they know…_

"No." Dahyte whispered, too quietly for the microphone to pick up.

_They know who you really are…_

Gritting her teeth, the sniper shook her head violently. "No."

_They know that under the layers of steel, you're…_

"No!" Dahyte whirled from the window, slamming an iron hatch down on her inner tormentor. 

Hal looked up from where he lay, holding the still form of the SeeD. "What?"

Dahyte tried with all her might to keep her eyes away from Quistis's scratched faceplate, but despite her best efforts, she felt her gaze lock with that of the former SeeD instructor as the injured woman opened her eyes. _…you're just as human as the rest of us. You care about everyone you've ever met, you even care about every person you've ever assassin—_

"No!" Dahyte shouted again, and fled into the darkness.

Hal gazed down into the SeeD's facemask. "Well, sleeping beauty awakens. Do you have any idea what she was talking about?" He nodded toward where the sniper had stood a moment before. 

Quistis smiled slightly. "I think I just might." Perhaps it was just the morphine talking, or perhaps not.

Hal tried to keep the mood light. "Well, I finally got you in my arms, babe." 

"And you only had to drug me, and cut off my legs to do it too." Quistis mumbled groggily. "Nice work, soldier."

Hal covered his grimace with a snappy retort. _God, I'm sorry, Quistis. I closed the doors too soon..._

"Hal?" He felt a light tug on his pant leg where the SeeD's thumb and forefinger had a hold on the fabric.

He realized his mind had been drifting. "Oh, sorry." _Carbon Dioxide levels must be rising already._

"It's okay." She looked up at him, and he knew she wasn't talking about his attention span.

He decided to give voice to his thoughts. "But if I had just waited a few more seconds…"

"We'd all be dead." Quistis had to pause to draw a short breath before continuing. "That thing would have gotten through, forced the door open, and torn us all apart—just like it did to the Centra."

"Now there's a cheery thought." He forced a note of levity into his voice. "So tell me, what's the difference between a—." The commando broke off suddenly and cocked his head to the side.

"What is it?" Quistis asked.

"Probably trouble." Hal answered without thinking. "Oh." He looked down. "Nothing. Never mind."

Quistis managed a slight frown. "Tell me."

Hal sighed. "The banging's stopped. Probably means that thing finally broke through, or maybe it found another way in."

Quistis blew out a painful breath. "Boy, you really are Mr. Sunshine, aren't you?"

"That's right, babe." He shifted her torso slowly until she was leaning up against the back of the table. "The glass is always half full with me. Hang on a second, I need to check something out."

A slight note of fear crept into Quistis's voice as she looked out over her immobile legs at the darkened laboratory. "Don't be gone too long."

Hal nodded slightly, and set off at a brisk walk toward the airlock. As soon as he judged he was out of Quistis's line of sight, he broke into a run.

Hal skidded to a halt on the loose gravel filling the courtyard. The powerful roaring noise permeating his suit and reverberating against the walls of the station as—high above him—the deadly fog glowed with the brilliant lights from the shuttle's landing lights. The mist around him swirled and roiled in the exhaust from the spacecraft's rockets as it glided slowly overhead. A clearing in the opaque cloud revealed the shuttle—fully illuminated for takeoff—it's lights blinding after the extended darkness of the moonbase's interior. Hal's shadow was blasted in stark outline onto the rocks underfoot. The angular shadow of his rifle being raised complemented his screams. "Come back here, you chickenshit sons-of-bitches!!" 

As his finger tightened on the trigger, Hal felt a restraining hand on his arm. "Won't do any good." Dahyte had to shout over the roar of the rocket

"Shit!" Hal dropped the weapon to his side. "Hey!" His eyes widened as he pointed upward. "They didn't clear their takeoff path! They're gonna run into that mountain!" His finger indicated a tall spire of black rock that appeared suddenly through a clearing in the mist.

Dahyte squinted. "That's not a mountain."

To his infinite horror, Hal realized the SeeD sniper was right as the undulating liquid form of the black tower flexed toward the hovering shuttle. "Oh. My. God."

Apparently, the pilot of the Galbadian shuttle had spotted the thing as well, for the shuttle pitched violently to the right, and flared brilliantly as the main engine ignited, but the aerospace plane moved far too slowly and the Finger of God blotted it from the sky seconds later, plunging the scene into darkness once more.

Blind until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Hal risked a whisper. "Do you see it?"

Dahyte's reply was long in coming. "It's gone."

"The shuttle's gone, isn't it?" Quistis looked up as Hal slumped heavily to the floor beside her.

Sparing her the gory details, he simply said: "Yup."

"Well, that's that." The SeeD sighed.

"Uh-huh." Stirring himself into motion, Hal gently picked up Quistis's armored arm. As he looked into her mask, he noted the paleness of her skin. "Are you feeling a little light-headed?"

"You mean, besides the morphine?" Quistis grimaced fuzzily. "Yes… and Hal?"

"Hmm?" He blinked.

"I… I can't feel my arms anymore." Quistis swallowed. "I think it's the poison."

"That's just because you've lost a lot of blood, but you'll be okay. The medical readout says that last antidote did the trick on the toxin." Hal lied.

"I always seem to be misplacing the stuff." The SeeD mumbled. Trying her best to cock her head to the side, she regarded the commando. "Hal, I know what's happening to me. You don't have to lie about it."

He avoided her gaze. "You're down to your last shot of painkiller. I'm going to go ahead and use a depressant that'll help you sleep."

The commando found his arm caught in Quistis's surprisingly strong grip as he reached toward the medication dispenser's keys. "Hal… don't…" She blinked clearly. "I want to be awake when… when it comes for us."

Hal took a moment to run a gloved finger down the edge of the breath mask where seal met skin. "No you don't." He whispered quietly, and pressed the button to dispense the anesthesia. 

Gazing into the depths of the enormous gem, Dahyte's brow furrowed. _It's crazy. _Turning her head away from the pedestal on which the Sapphire Dream sat, she blinked. _No… it's completely insane. _She sighed. _Insane in the way going back to that mountain cave had been insane, insane in the way stopping to help someone caught in the clutches of an omnipotent alien monster was insane._ Dahyte knew it was suicide and would never work, but she also knew that there were no other alternatives.

[Chapter Eight][1]

_ _

   [1]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/eight.htm



	8. Eripio

**Chapter Eight:**

** **

**Eripio**

** **

****He could feel it growing stronger. 

_Do you love me, Squall?_

_You know I do, Rinoa. _

"Then, why won't you say it?"

He whirled. Underfoot, loose, frost-covered shale crackled and slipped over the precipice, tumbling through the swirling snowflakes. Down, down it fell, to shatter on the boulder fields thousands of feet below; unseen and unheard amidst this wasteland of great rock peaks. 

Squall blinked tears the stinging wind drew from his eyes away as he squinted at the ledge. There was no one behind him. There was no one for hundreds of miles. Squall's world was an isolated pocket of reality stuck in the midst of a cloud-enshrouded limbo. He was only the tiniest of specks, flattened against the dead gray granite of an ancient monolith raised from the planet's crust eons ago by forces unimaginable. 

The wind roaring in his ears quieted momentarily, and he released his grasp on the wall of stone. The clouds parted momentarily. The storm lashing the peak did not clear enough to see the deep blue of the frozen high-altitude sky, but it did reveal miles of torn and twisted mountain peaks. Scoured clean of everything but the eternal snows of this place, the broken teeth of the world stretched off into the obscure distance. Everywhere Squall looked, he saw only the white and gray shades of the lifelessness. In the valleys lay darkness and on the summits darkness, and in-between a great drifting field of cloud snow and rock. Then the storm closed in again and the narrow icy ledge became Squall's sole companion once more. Or, perhaps not. 

The visions had started shortly after he had left the motorcycle. The narrow dirt path through the foothills had at last given up the ghost to the range of mountains guarding the entrance to Mare Lela—impassible to any and all motor vehicles. At first, only the occasional rumblings of avalanches high up the sides of the rocky valley had broken the stillness of the dead highlands, but after three hours, Squall had began to feel a ghostly, half-imagined presence in this world of ice and granite.

At the flash of blue fabric and chiming of sweet laughter, Squall spun once more—and stumbled. Instinctively, his hands reached out, grabbing solid purchase on thin air. As his feet slipped from the tiny shelf of rock another vision flashed before Squall's eyes. 

He was falling, falling. A great spear of ice protruding from his chest. His arms, his feet, the sky… Rinoa. They wheeled above him, but greatest of these was Rinoa. Reaching for him, he could see her calling his name. Then he hit the side of the cliff and everything disappeared into darkness. His body did not stop its lifeless plummet until, seven hundred feet below, it was crushed against a giant boulder.

…

"So… what are you saying?" Folding his arms across his chest, the president of Esthar, Laguna Loire, leaned back in his chair. It was—he thought—a very presidential pose. 

Standing to one side of the massive wooden desk that occupied a good portion of the middle of the Estharian Presidential Office, Kiros Seagill slapped a hand to his face. "Come on, Laguna! They just spelled it out for you! Quit posing and _listen_, for Hyne's sake!"

Looking over to Irvine, who nodded in support, Selphie addressed the former Galbadian foot soldier. "I guess the bottom line, Mr. President, is that SeeD is in big trouble. And, as you probably realize, the Gardens are… were the only thing standing between Galbadian and Esthar." She spread her hands in supplication. "We don't know what Squall's situation in Galbadia is, and… well… we need your help, again."

"And, uh, one more thing…" Irvine spoke up. "We have reason to believe that one of your premier scientific minds—Doctor Odine—may be in danger."

At this remark, Ward and Kiros both turned to look at each other, then at the president. 

"Odine's dead." Laguna blurted. Then immediately turned bright red. "Uh…" He could not come up with anything else to add, so he just waved his hands in the air for a bit.

Selphie's eyes widened. _Odine dead? But…_

"He was assassinated by sorcery, I assume?" Irvine placed his hands on his hips.

Laguna's eyebrows climbed skyward at the sharpshooter's remark. "Well, yeah. How did you know?"

Ignoring the president of Esthar, Irvine turned to his cabinet member, Kiros. "How long ago did this occur?" 

The aging warrior frowned. "Nearly two weeks ago, just after the Galbadian attack on our communications satellites." He raised one dark eyebrow. "You seem to be remarkably well informed on this subject…"

Irvine nodded and launched into a synopsis of the events that had taken place after the foiled assassination attempt by the SeeD sniper.

As Irvine spoke, Selphie's mind raced. _So Rachel was telling the truth. Her friend must have made it back into our time too._ Her hand drifted to her mouth. _She really is a white SeeD. And… and all those terrible things she said about the future really are going to come true… and we left her—her and Quistis to try and stop it all, alone. _She turned to Irvine, who had finished his abbreviated report. "Oh, Irvy… what about Quistis? What have we done?" 

Seeing the sparkling moisture creeping into Selphie's eyes, Irvine drew the small SeeD close. "Hey, hey, darlin'," he said softly, brushing a finger gently down one bouncing brown curl of her hair. "Don't worry now, ol' Quisty can take care of herself." His brow wrinkled slightly. _And I'm not totally convinced that Miss Young was telling us the whole truth. After all, if that_ guy_—Borland—if he completed his mission then…_

"Why didn't she disappear?" Selphie had recovered from her momentary bout of self-doubt. She mentally chided herself for jumping, emotionally, to conclusions. "She said that if Odine was killed, she would disappear." She frowned. "And it makes sense. If Odine is dead, his research will be over, and her existence here would be a paradox." She turned to the president for support. "Right?"

"Right." Laguna nodded gamely.

"Not necessarily." Kiros broke in. "I can see a way in which she could continue to exist in the new 'timestream'—as you called it." He folded his arms across his chest. "You know that Odine was killed, but what you don't know is that upon his death, an apparatus he had rigged sent out all his data to top scientific minds across the planet." He scowled. "All his research, all his design work, everything is now public domain on Esthar's computer networks. I wouldn't be surprised if Galbadian scientists haven't gotten at least some information on his findings as well. So the sequence of events the sorceress described could very well come to pass—even without Odine." He paused, then continued. "I had a chance to speak with the doctor just before he was killed. He told me that he feared his research would be lost forever if something like this happened, and explained that it could destroy our world if such a paradox was created." His eyes narrowed. "That is why we had to allow him to continue his work—even in the face of all that he's done. He believed, as I do, that this dabbling in the timestream could be quite dangerous. Because of his preparations, Odine's death didn't seem to have any negative repercussions we're aware of, but if the wrong people interact with this sorceress from the future who wants to change the past, it could cause paradoxes in our own world." He paused. "I'm not sure what would happen then."

"You mean, like people disappearing," Selphie said. "Rachel told us more about the paradoxes. She called them 'slips'. She said… she said that bad things happen during them."

Kiros nodded. "I can imagine." His brow lowered. "I think this sorceress Rachel is dangerous. With the knowledge and power she has, I'm afraid she might do serious damage to our world." 

From behind the desk, where he had been listening intently, Laguna spoke at last. "Then, I think we need to stop her."

Kiros nodded slowly. "You may be right, old friend. You may be right."

"But what if she's telling the truth?" Irvine interjected. "What if all she's doing is trying to save the world from Ultimecia?"

Kiros shrugged. "It is a possibility. But we need to deal with the reality set before us; we know that she is attempting to alter the timestream, we know this could have dire consequences for our present, past, and future, and we know someone with the power to stop her."

Selphie looked down. "You're talking about Rinoa, right?"

"She is a sorceress. She has thwarted this Rachel's plans once already." Kiros's mouth narrowed into a thin line of pressed lips. "Do you think she'd be willing to help us?"

As one, both Irvine and Selphie shook their heads. "I don't know." Selphie blinked quickly. "I really don't…"

"Rinoa thinks we were involved in the assassination attempt," Irvine said. "I'm not sure we could even get close enough just to talk to her." 

"What about Squall?" Laguna ended his long silence. "Do you think you might be able to talk him into convincing Rinoa to help us?"

At the president's query, both SeeDs dropped their eyes from his gaze. "We… we don't know if Squall is still alive, Sir." Selphie spoke quietly. 

"He is." Kiros broke in. "You haven't been briefed on what occurred in Galbadia after the sorceress Rinoa disappeared?"

"What? Rinoa disappeared?" Irvine exclaimed, making it quite obvious to the heads of Esthar's government that they had—indeed—not been informed of events in the far-away country.

"So that's that." Irvine sighed. "Even if we could talk to her, we don't know where Rinoa is." He still felt a bit stunned by Kiros's explanation of all that had occurred during their incarceration, release, and wild flight into Esthar. 

"But you could still speak to Squall. Our… …sources give us a pretty good idea where he is headed." Laguna looked hopeful. "I'm sure he'd listen to you."

Irvine began to nod and agree, but Selphie cut him off. "Sir, uh, Mr. President, with all due respect, I think _you_ should be the one to talk to Squall about this."

Irvine's brow furrowed as he shot Selphie a _'What the hell are you talking about?'_ kind of glance. While Laguna was digesting Selphie's words, he leaned over. "Uh, Selphie mae sweet, are you sure about that." Whispering, he nodded slightly toward the President of Esthar. "Darlin', in case you hadn't noticed, this guy is a total goon—and Squall really doesn't seem to like him all that well."

"Irvine, you sweet silly oaf, haven't you got it yet?" Selphie whispered back. "Laguna is Squall's—"

"I think that is a very good idea, Miss Tilmitt." Kiros and Ward were nodding. "I think it is about time Mr. Loire and Mr. Leonhart had a chance to talk face-to-face." 

A strange expression crossed the President's face. "Well, hey, don't I get a say in—"

"Besides," Kiros interrupted, "I'm sure you two are anxious to rejoin the other SeeDs and students of Balamb Garden."

"Um, excuse me." Laguna raised a finger. "I really don't think—"

"You know where they are?" Selphie took a half step toward the Cabinet Member, unconsciously clasping her hands.

"Hello? Hello?" Laguna waved his hands.

"Indeed." Kiros smiled. "If you hurry, you will reach their staging area before the assault craft leave." He nodded toward the office door. "There is a jet waiting on the roof to take you there. We'll work on everything else from this end."

Vexed by the dark man's words, but excited nonetheless, Selphie and Irvine allowed waiting Estharian aides to usher them to the VTOL aircraft. As they left the office, Selphie leaned back and waved. "It was good to see you again, Mr. President. Best of luck in meeting Squall." 

"Uh-huh." Laguna managed to sigh and wave an anemic good-bye before the massive wooden doors slammed behind the two SeeDs.

…

The ice was everywhere. In the pockets of the heavy white parka, stuffed up the cuffs of the jacket's sleeves, tracing frozen paths down the curve made by the man's spine against the insulated lining, locked in miniature icicles that hung from his eyebrows, lashes, and chin. The storm drove it and the cold kept it there. The jagged scars of failure lancing across the man's chest were frozen solid. Without the flow of warm blood, the necrotic tissue was starred with swirling patterns of frost. When he slipped on a patch of ice, or stumbled against a snow-covered rock, the sharp edges of his dead flesh dug into the living organs around it.

Like all physical pain, Seifer found it easy to ignore. He concentrated, instead, on the steady progression of footfalls across the barren boulder field. His frozen boots would punch through the thick crust of old snow and disappear into the heavy slush beneath, only to re-emerge seconds later—trailing streamers of the powdery whiteness that the howling wind carried off. The cycle continued, broken only by the occasional blur of snow-devils as they writhed and twisted around the trudging figure—causing even his own hands and feet to disappear into the swirling snow—before they danced off into the flat storm daylight. 

Suddenly, the wind abated, the needles of snow ceased their tattooing against his upturned hood. Seifer stopped. He had arrived in the lee of a low rock ridge running from the sheer cliff on his left down into the maelstrom of ice and snow down slope to his right. 

He looked down at the crushed body lying before him. "It hurts now, doesn't it, Squall?"

The frozen figure's arms and legs were twisted as those of a discarded marionette as he lay stiff as death. 

Seifer nodded. "Oh yes, it hurts you. I can taste your pain." 

Despite the frigidness of the high mountains, despite the sleeting storm, the body before Seifer was clad only in the warrior's standard garb. 

"Do you think you can run to her, Squall? Do you think that you can bridge the distance just by physical force alone? Is that how you will try to stop the pain?" Ice that had formed on his upper lip cracked over the bleeding skin as Seifer laughed. "Oh no, Squall. You only wish it were that easy."

Despite the words of the blonde knight standing above, no sound forced itself from the frozen throat of the jacketed figure. 

"No, no, Squall. That's not the way this game is played." A cruel smile forced it's way across Seifer's countenance. "Because, even if you find her, even if you somehow catch up to her, you'll just lose her again."

The eyes in Squall's head—at the end of a neck bent through impossible angles by the fall—stared blankly through frost-covered corneas at the snow.

Seifer was crouching next to the body of the knight now. "Do you want to know why, Squall?" He paused, and his grin grew wider. "She told me, you know. She told me the same things Ellone told me."

The wind howled over the sheltering ridge, and a light dusting of snow fell over the two knights. 

"That's right, Squall. Sis and Rinoa. They both came to me with what they would not—could not—confide in you." He cocked his head to the side. "Do you want to know the real reason they left you, Squall? Do you want to know what they told me, just before they ran away?" He looked up at the leaden sky. "They both said the same thing, you know."

One arm, bent in three places instead of just one, still lay near the handle of the body's gunblade. The fingers of its hand did not move.

"They told me…" Seifer leaned in close to whisper in the ear covered by a light dusting of snow. "They told me… It was because of **you** Squall." 

The opaque film covering Squall's eyes did not glint.

Seifer rocked back on his heels and crowed into the mountains. "It was because of you, Squall! They were running from you! They could not stand to be around you!" A triumphant gleam appeared in the knight's eyes. "Did you ever wonder why I told you that you ruined Sis for us all? Well, now you know. **You drove her away**, Squall. Just like you drove Rinoa away." Seifer's voice dropped to a vicious whisper. "Just like you drive everyone away, Squall. Sooner or later."

Seifer closed his eyes as he stood. "Yes, that's right. **I** know why you always hid inside that stupid shell of yours, Squall. **I know** just what you thought of yourself then. _Might as well drive them away before I begin to care for them—and they leave me._ That's why you did it, Squall." Seifer opened his eyes. 

"For a while there, I bet you thought that maybe it wasn't true. You were the hero of B-Garden, Squall. You had your sorceress, your fame—did it make you feel secure? Did you perhaps forget that you were responsible for Sis leaving? Well, remember it now, Squall. Now that you've driven Rinoa away as well, remember it. Because, every time you thought that you were the one who ruined their—our lives…" Seifer bared his teeth. "…you were right."

Seifer stood, and drew his weapon. He examined the black blade in the darkness of the clouded sun. "Yes, I know it hurts now, Squall." He pointed the gunblade toward the snow-obscured heights of the cliff from which Squall had fallen. "Did you hope to die when you fell, Squall? Did you hope that it would somehow end the suffering?" Sparks flew from the gray rock as a blade the color of midnight clove through them. "YOU FOOL!!" Seifer shouted. "You can't escape it so easily!" The air rang with the sound of splitting granite as Seifer slashed again. "For us, there is only one way out, Squall." He lowered the weapon. "Because you are Squall Leonhart, because you are the chosen knight of the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly, you cannot just die—" Seifer's eyes narrowed. "as I cannot," He whispered. 

The tip of Seifer's blade wandered slowly over the still figure of the fallen knight. The weapon came to rest over Squall's heart. "No, you are Squall Leonhart, and must be killed." Seifer snarled. The point of Seifer's gunblade dug slightly into the cold skin of Squall's body as time hung on a knife-edged moment.

Then, the white-clad knight turned, and sheathed his blade. "But no matter how much I wish to kill you, Squall, I want to watch you suffer life with the knowledge that you can never be with your sorceress again. "That is my affliction, Squall," Seifer spat. "And now, it is yours as well."

Thirty minutes after Seifer vanished back into the swirling curtains of snow from which he had appeared, Squall's lungs began to draw air once more. An hour later, the snow and ice covering his skin began to melt. Fifteen minutes later, his bones were on the mend and the frostbite began to disappear from his skin. 

Two more solitary hours passed before Squall healed enough to cry. 

[…][1]

[][1]

[The gentle wash of the ocean waves upon the white sand beach was carried through the gilded glass doors by the balmy tropical breeze. Interspersed with the quiet rustling of palm leaves in the late afternoon sun, the sound seemed to soak into every corner of the sea-colored room. The soft hissing of grains of sand swirled by warm saline water seeped into the spaces between the soft cushions of the room's furniture, bounced gently off the pastel walls and ceiling, and settled into the thick weave of the plush carpeting. Cubes of ice chimed against the transparent sides of a crystal goblet as it was rested on a small glass table by a pair of long, delicate fingers. Those same fingers then traveled a short distance to wrap themselves around the smooth ivory of a small, felt-bottomed statuette. The icon was lifted from its place atop the exquisite gold-inlaid marble playing board and examined by a pair of amethyst eyes. Ruby lips twitched upward slightly in approval as the fingers set the object to rest again near an opal statue of Balamb Garden.][1]

["I don't like it." The man said.][1]

[Feathery silver eyebrows descended slightly at the interruption, but no reply was forthcoming. Instead, the long-nailed fingers displaced another playing piece—this one carved into the crest of the Galbadian Secret Service. The object was laid to rest inside a symbolic representation of Deling City made of veins of silver carefully poured into the ornate world map playing board.][1]

[The man wrung his hands nervously as he perched on the shore of the deep sofa. "I said: I don't like it!"][1]

[At last, a sigh passed the lips of the sorceress. "My dear NORG, sometimes you can be so dense—even for a Shumi." Sera allowed herself to sink back against the luxurious upholstery. "Everything is proceeding according to plan."][1]

[The man grimaced. "According to _your_ plan maybe." He pointed at the playing board. "You promised me control of Galbadia, you promised me control of the Gardens! I should be the one in Deling, not Matchgar."][1]

["I shall give you everything agreed upon, my anxious ally, all in good time." The sorceress turned her gaze upon the man. "For now, Delphi Matchgar will remain in control of Galbadia. He has several important parts left to play in my orchestration."][1]

["But the gardens…" The man complained. "You're practically handing Balamb back to that idiot, Cid. You are going to allow Galbadia Garden to fall to the insurgents. Why not give them to me instead? Put me in charge of Galbadia, I know your plans, I can—"][1]

[The chiming of the sorceress's laughter cut him off. "You would like that, wouldn't you, NORG? You'd love to be the one in control here." She waved a finger at him. "But I wonder, if I did give you everything we've agreed upon—what would keep you from turning on me then? What reason would you have to assist me in obtaining the Sapphire Dream?" A row of china-white teeth flashed in a knowing smile. "No, I think not. I **will** make you strong again, NORG, but never as strong as myself. So, you see, it will always be in your best interest to make sure that I am as powerful as possible."][1]

[The man's expression darkened. "You call this powerful? You control nothing! Your plans are based upon pure chance. Look at your stupid game!" He pointed to a steel statue of a Galbadian soldier. "That fool Matchgar is going to ruin your plans." He waved to the symbol of a black gunblade. "And all you send to stop him is the traitor! If something should go wrong—then we would lose everything."][1]

[The sorceress laughed again. "Oh, NORG, NORG. You still don't understand, do you?" She shook her head. "Do you really think that strength is measured in terms of the size of your armies, or influence in the extent of your wealth? Do you still believe that power is something you can hold in your hand, or count on a sheet of numbers?" The sorceress pointed to the board and ornately carved pieces arrayed across it. "No, no, my foolish friend from the future. Power is the ability to control, to influence, and to manipulate without being seen. Witness my true abilities in the arrangement of my plans, for they are not dependant upon fate, but rather they create the fate of others. I hold their lives in my hands—and they do not even know it." Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the man. "I decide their actions, just as I decide yours. And that, is true power."][1]

["Then why, sorceress, do you seek the Sapphire Dream, if physical objects of strength mean nothing to you?" The man countered.][1]

["I do not seek it, Shumi. Rather, I will let it seek me." She turned back toward the playing board. "As for why I want it… That is not your concern. All you need know is that, once I have it, all we have agreed upon, you will receive."][1]

[The man blinked slowly. "Yes, but I wonder what guarantee **I** have that **you** will fulfill your end of the bargain once you have the gem?"][1]

[Without looking at him, the sorceress answered. "That question, my dear friend, shows which one of us is controlled, and which one does the controlling here."][1]

[The man frowned. "I do not have to help you, sorceress. The device allows me to possess anyone I choose." He paused. "Remember that."][1]

["No it doesn't," Sera said. "If that were true, you would not be here requesting my help. You would be able to change the future—re-establish your control of the Balamb Garden, take over Galbadia Garden, and turn your future self into the most powerful being on the planet without me." She drew a breath. "No, NORG, I know the device only allows you to take over those minds weaker than your own." She took a moment to glance at the man. "And from the looks of things, you are finding that those types of minds are in short supply." ][1]

[The shocked look that washed over the man's face was confirmation enough for the sorceress.][1]

["Yes," she continued. "And I also know that you are operating the machine at the limits of its range. You can't go any further back into the past to correct your mistakes," She grinned ferally. "or to set up any _unpleasant surprises_ for me."][1]

[The man scowled. "I could always jump a few days forward and rectify that situation." He growled.][1]

["Yes, you could, NORG. In fact, why don't you? I'm sure it would be very convenient for you." Sera's smile widened. "I can take care of things while you are away." She laughed. "You can trust me."][1]

["Bitch!" The man snarled. But he did not make the mistake of standing. ][1]

[The sorceress assumed an innocent expression—a semitransparent veneer that failed to conceal the malice below the surface. "What's the matter, NORG? Don't you believe me?" ][1]

[Still to smart to take any aggressive actions toward the sorceress, the man pointed a finger that shook with anger. He knew he was being controlled, even now. "I want my Gardens. I want my Countries. I want my power!"][1]

[Ignoring the incensed man, Sera had reached for and retrieved two silver playing pieces from the board. She rolled smooth metal icons between her fingers—one molded into the shape of a lion's head, the other engraved with a set of sparkling wings. "You shall have them, ally." The statues clinked together in her hand. "And these two shall be the keys that will unlock everything we have worked to create." She looked up. "But **I** will be the one to decide when and where."][1]

[][1]

[…][1]

[][1]

[It was quiet in the dimness under the trellises. Overhead, the snaking vines of the morning glories wove themselves into a leafy roof of green shoots and purple blossoms. At this particular time of day, the sun shown down on the valley at just the right angle so that it's rays fell upon the throats of carefully arranged flowers. The splashes of white that spread their arms from the center of each lavender bloom glowed with the warm sunlight, making it seem as if the cool darkness under the hanging flowers was really a fantastic night sky, lit by a thousand violet stars. At the center of the circular roof of trellises, a gibbous blue moon of daytime sky sent its magical beams shafting down to splash among the midnight roses that clustered about the base of a miniature weeping willow. Spreading in concentric circles from the nexus of black petals, rings of impossible electric blue petunias gloried in the sun's moonlight.][1]

[Six clear streams cascaded down a series of miniature waterfalls over white marble steps to pour with quiet splashes into a small pool that encircled the central flowerbed. Six polished stone benches stood in silent array under the silent flowers. It was on one of these benches that the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly rested. ][1]

[She loved this place. It was the reason she had volunteered for the duty of maintaining the surrounding acres of rose gardens—no easy task. Smiling down with just a touch of ruefulness at the myriad scratches inflicted by the thorny but beautiful gardens surrounding the pavilion, she sighed. _This is the most peaceful place I've ever visited._ Tending to the monks' gardens was even more difficult work than the maintenance the living quarters of the Fate's sanctuary. The fact that an unknown force hovering about this place prevented her from using her magic to assist in her daily labors also contributed to the hardship involved. _But it is all worth it, just to be able to rest here, and be at peace._][1]

[The tiniest hint of a frown crossed the sorceress's dirt-smudged face. _I am at peace._ She insisted to herself. _I am happy to be here. This place, where my powers can't be used against anything, where I'm no danger to anyone… it is where I belong._ ][1]

[Rinoa grimaced slightly as her mind recoiled from the lie. ][1]

[_It is! It is where I belong._ She repeated silently. _Here, I can take time to reflect, to think about everything that's happened. _She sighed again. _I can decide what needs to be done, and I can figure out where I want to be._][1]__

[Dirt-encrusted nails dug slightly into the sorceress's palms as her fists balled unconsciously.][1]

[_I didn't lie to Mary! I really am relieved that he hasn't come for me._ Rinoa's eyes closed._ I don't want him trying to rescue me. It would only complicate things. I want him to stay a…_][1]__

[From between squinched eyelids, the tears burned their way onto her cheeks. She couldn't finish the thought. No matter how hard she tried to lie to herself, the droplets of soul tracing glistening paths down her dusty cheeks betrayed the untruth. The sorceress's tangled locks fell forward to hide the sobs as she buried her face in her hands. _I don't belong here. Squall… I belong with you._][1]

["Linda! Hey Linda!" The sound of the girl's excited shouts caused Rinoa to choke on a jagged edge of anguish. She hurriedly rubbed the dirty sleeves of her nondescript brown robe across her face—hoping to smear away the telltale trails of sorrow as the girl who had shouted scampered into the dimness of Rinoa's flower sanctuary. She seemed about to burst from excitement as she hopped up and down, waving her arms. "Oh, Linda! You won't believe this! A challenger just showed up!"][1]

[Rinoa forced a small smile to surface at the girl's excitement. _Thank god it's only Renee._ Rinoa was relieved at the appearance of the pleasant woman. During her time of servitude, the sorceress had kept to herself and tried to avoid engaging in the common conversation and gossip that permeated the lives of most servants. While it had allowed her to remain an anonymous in the eyes of the acolytes—the monks who had built and maintained the Fate's enclave—it had not made her any friends among those serving the 30 year term required to ask a question of the oracle.][1]

[As for Renee, she was a naturally quiet but friendly girl who had helped Rinoa adjust to the servant's way of life during her first few days. Renee had never attempted to pry into Rinoa's past—in fact, she did not seem terribly perceptive of the emotions of others and in her excited state, she would undoubtedly fail to notice Rinoa's reddened eyes and her disheveled appearance—where Mary or some of the other girls might not. These thoughts crossed Rinoa's mind in the span of microseconds before the meaning of Renee's words sunk in. "A… challenger?"][1]

[Bouncing rapidly on the balls of her feet, Renee nodded. "Yeah! Isn't it amazing? He came from the north—right through the high mountains! And it's almost winter even! He must be really crazy to make that kind of trek!"][1]

["It is a man?" Rinoa felt a shiver of something travel down her spine.][1]

["Well of course, silly!" Renee cocked her head to the side. "Do you think I'd get this excited over a girl?" She grabbed Rinoa's arm and began tugging her out from under the flowered trellises. "I didn't hear what he said to the acolytes, but I think he's come here looking for one of **us**!"][1]

["I… I have work… I have to finish here." Rinoa stammered out the half-hearted excuse.][1]

["Are you kidding me?" Renee didn't bother to turn around. "Nobody works when there's a champion in town!" She redoubled her efforts to tow the reluctant sorceress out of the garden. "Besides, everyone has to be there for the challenge. The Fate demands it." ][1]

[Rinoa hardly dared to breathe as she allowed herself to be dragged toward the central square of the Fate's sanctuary. _Is it him? Do I want it to be him? What if it isn't? What if it is?_][1]

[][1]

[As they emerged from behind the last building flanking the square, Rinoa's breath caught in her throat. She felt as though her heart would burst as her eyes fell upon that familiar shock of long brown hair, the particular set of those leather-clad shoulders, that cute scowl. She could not hold back the tiny smile even as she flipped the hood of her robe to cover her face. She saw his body suddenly spasm, as if stung, as he turned away from the startled acolyte with whom he had been conversing. Squall's eyes swept across the assembled men and women of the Fate's servant host. Even from under the hood, Rinoa could feel his gaze lock with her own. _Oh, Squall, I…_ ][1]

[She gasped as his eyes broke from her own—across the square, the acolyte was tugging on the knights arm and shouting something over the noise of the growing crowd. Panicked, the sorceress tried to hide herself behind another robed figure. _What am I doing? I… I can't let him find me._ ][1]

[Though Rinoa found most of her more powerful magic blocked by the strange force that lay over the Fate's valley, she had noticed early on that—as long as she was careful—she could weave successive layers of light sorcery upon herself and other objects. Eventually, the layers of spells could become strong enough to mimic the effect of the original, more-powerful magic. She made haste to use this technique now, and—moments later—Renee was casting about confusedly, wondering where Linda could have gone to—though Rinoa was standing right next to her, the disguising magic making the sorceress so nondescript as to be unnoticeable and nearly invisible.][1]

[][1]

["I'm sorry. There is no one of the name 'Rinoa Heartilly' here." The acolyte had to shout to be heard over the murmuring crowd. Squall barely noticed him. ][1]

[Instead, the knight had stepped away from the cloaked man and was making his way through the crowd of gathered servants.][1]

[Those unfortunate souls who had been driven to seek out the Fate on the romantic hope that a hero would someday appear and free them from their own self-induced bondage pushed forward, reaching out to the scarred knight. Mary Wilfre was at the forefront of this crowd. "Pick me, oh handsome challenger! Be my champion!"][1]

[Squall pushed through them without a second glance. He continued on, straight ahead, looking neither left nor right until he reached an empty space in the crowd—no, the onlookers blinked, there was indeed a person there. Whoever it was had their hood pulled up over their face, and almost seemed to shrink back from the hand of the man dressed in black as he reached forward.][1]

[Rinoa felt the spells enshrouding her evaporate as her hood was pushed gently back from her face. Hanging her head, she closed her eyes. "Squall…"][1]

["Rinoa…"][1]

[The sorceress's eyes opened at the anguish in his voice. She looked up. The expression of wounded betrayal on his face broke her heart. The hot stinging tears returned. "I'm sorry." They both whispered as one.][1]

[Before either sorceress or knight could ask the other the meaning of the words, the acolyte Squall had spoken with earlier managed to shove his way through the crowd surrounding the pair. "I take it that you choose to be this girl's champion?"][1]

[Squall's mouth opened. A ragged breath caught in his throat as the sense of his sorceress's presence overwhelmed him. Every muscle in his body tensed as he held himself back from her. "I'm sorry." He gasped with the last of a strained breath. "I can't live without you." And Rinoa knew it was just as true for herself. "Yes."][1]

[The acolyte turned to Rinoa. "Do you accept this challenger as your champion?"][1]

[She couldn't speak. The weight of the world seemed to be crushing down on the sorceress's shoulders, making it impossible to even stand. _You can't, Rinoa. Everyone is counting on you! You can't give in to your emotions!_ "I… I…" She shook her head, drawing in what seemed like her last breath. "I can't… I'm sorry…" She deflated against Squall as the energy to resist at last left her soul. "Yes! Oh dear god, yes!" She wrapped her shaking arms around him, and felt his own, no more steady, around her. _I'm sorry everyone. I can't be without him. _In the warm light of the late-fall valley sun, Rinoa clung to the one with whom she belonged. _Please forgive me for being so weak._][1]

…

"Dammit, Sir, you're not going on this transport!" The whine of turbofans spinning up vied for dominance with Xu's angry voice as she stood, just outside the open loading door of the Estharian airborne troop transport. 

"Yes I am, Xu." Cid, dressed in full-sized Kevlar armor suit, motioned toward the SeeDs already in their harnesses inside the jet. "I can't lead from the rear anymore. I have to be out there, in battle with the enemy. I need to know what is going on at the frontline."

"That's bullshit!" Xu's hair whipped angrily about her face as the dusty wind from the engine's ground wash swept over her. "I know what you're doing, headmaster, and I won't allow it!" Reaching forward, she pulled herself up by way of a handhold set into the door. Face-to-face with the headmaster, she kept her gaze steady, not allowing him the chance to duck away and mumble excuses._My god, look at his eyes…_

With two orbs of dead and empty stone, Cid met and defeated her piercing stare. "I'm going with the strike team, Xu." 

"No you're not, Sir!" The SeeD tried to keep her voice down to allow the noise from the engines drown out her words before they reached the other mercenaries. "Look… Cid…" The familiarity did not come easily to her. "I know you're hurting, I know it's worse than… before," Xu winced internally. _Shouldn't have said that… but dammit! I didn't let him quit when he had to order them into battle against her. I'm not going to let him quit now!_ "but you have to go on. The garden has to go on." She shook her head. "I won't let you go out an get yourself killed like this."

If granite could convey an emotion, it would have to be that of infinite weariness with those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that fill the lives of the generations of sufferers it sees pass away before its stony countenance. _Granite, that's what he's been carved from._ "It doesn't matter." The headmaster sighed, and began to turn away.

The sound of Xu's open palm connecting with the Headmaster's cheek echoed through the cabin. "God damn you, Sir! It matters to **us**!" She shouted, disregarding the incredulous stares from the other SeeDs. Even as a rush of red returned to the white imprint made by the SeeD's hand, Xu was stepping forward. "I won't let you do this, Sir! I won't let you leave us!" 

Flesh and blood, anger, fear, love; granite knows none of these, only pain. Cid turned away. "I am the headmaster of Balamb Garden, Xu. I am the commander of these mercenaries. I will accompany the first landing team to begin the assault on the garden." His voice had not modulated one iota from the hollow, rattling half-whisper.

_Am I going to have to do this… alone? Headmaster… Cid… I knew you were grooming me for something… leaving the operations of the garden to me while Squall was directing our course… but… _"Please… Cid… Don't go." The burning in her eyes warmed even before the stinging in her palm. "We need you."

Did the stone crack, or was it just the man encased within? "I need her."

And Xu was off the transport. Though the strobing lights at the ends of it's stubby wings stabbed through the early morning darkness and painfully into her eyes, she dared not blink. It seemed, as long as she kept her eyes open, the transport would remain grounded. _The SeeDs… they're all handpicked professionals. Their group finely tuned and ready for the task at hand. _

From far behind the other side of the planet, the sun's rays sailed into the eternal night sky to be reflected down by the tiniest sliver of the moon. Falling on the darkened continent of Esthar long before the first true beams of dawn. A few of those wandering showers of moon-reflected light now draped themselves gently, inharmoniously, over a scene of grim preparation.An even dozen VTOL aircraft formed a rectangle with three rows of four jets apiece in a largish paved field between the rough boulders of Esthar's northwestern coastline. 

_They can take care of themselves, they can take care of each other—but the headmaster? _Xu clenched her teeth, but did not blink as exhaust-driven grit and sand lashed her face. The dirty wind stank of hot exhaust from the turbojets and searing metal.

Glowing red waves of heat radiated from the first line of transports as the Estharian pilots put the aircraft through their preflight paces. What little fauna that had managed to push its way up from between the cracked tarmac of the old landing strip withered under the dark blasts of jet thrusters as a thirteenth transport—winging in from the south—alighted near the staging area. 

_He hasn't fought—really fought—for years. And even if he were prepared—he wants to die. _Xu shook her head. _They'll try to protect him, and they'll die too. Why couldn't you see it, Sir? You're not just killing yourself—you are taking the entire team—maybe even the entire garden with you._

As the pulsed plasma flames jetting from the newcomer's engines melted the asphalt into bubbling pools of tar, two figures—having jumped from its open main sally port were—already sprinting across the field toward the rows of black-clad SeeDs filing into the transports.

Even as Xu lifted the radio microphone to her mouth, she knew she couldn't depress the 'transmit' button. _I can't. I can't protect him myself. I can't hand control of this operation off—this is our only shot, I have to be the one to make it work._

She nearly dropped the device when its speaker squawked at her. "Xu? Xu? Are you there? This is four-oh-five-two in charge of 'B' company. Two SeeDs from G-Garden and T-Garden have just arrived aboard a transport from Esthar."

Xu's response was automatic. "Four-oh-five-two, you have permission to assign—" _Wait a minute…_ "Standby… five-two, what are the names of the SeeDs?" _Trabia and Galbadia? It couldn't be…_

"Irvine Kinneas and Selphie Tilmitt, Sir."

"Acknowledged, five-two. I'll take care of this personally. Send them to loading area alpha-one." Even as she listened to the confirmation of her order, she felt a prick of incredulity at the incredibly timely appearance of the two newly-legendary SeeDs. _There's no doubt those two can take care of the Headmaster and themselves… but… to show up now… this can't be just coincidence… can it?_ Xu shook her head. Coincidence or not, she was not about to reject this bit of good fortune. 

…

"**Is the challenger prepared**?!" Bits of dust, shaken from their perches atop the mounds of dirt pushed up by the passage of a thousand feet of past gladiators, tumbled into the shadows of the score marks of a thousand claws of the beasts those challengers had fought. Arrayed around the packed dirt of the battleground, the entire population of the Fate's sanctuary sat on tiered steps hewn from the sandstone walls of the ancient quarry. Occupying one-quarter of the circling seats, were the black-robed men and women of the Acolytes. They sat impassively, for the most part, their faces betraying neither interest nor boredom, rather, a studied neutrality—an expression which they took pains never to alter.

The servants, on the other hand, appeared leaned forward on the hard stone benches, waiting eagerly for the initiation of the test. Such occurrences were a rarity, and a welcome break from the daily toil of serving out their thirty-year attendance to the Fate's enclave. Generally, newcomers to the valley simply met with the Cagliostro—the same person who had just addressed the jacketed figure standing alone on the dusty field—to record the beginning of their servitude. Thirty years later, the Cagliostro would send an acolyte to escort the servant to the Casern of the oracle. That most souls chose this route was not due to any lack of courage among those seeking answers, but instead to the fact that the challenges were simply impossible. Thousands had attempted to eschew giving up a good portion of their lives, or to rescue those who had; any challenger who met with success was allowed to chose one person from the ranks of the servants, then both were allowed to ask a single question each of the Fate. But, in the valley of the Fate, there were two constants; the fate was _never_ wrong, and challengers _always_ died. Only the young and the foolish ever believed otherwise.

One such youthful fool raised an arm, indicating his readiness even as he drew a gleaming blue gunblade from the scabbard at his side. A collective anticipatory intake of breath rustled across the arena as the weapon appeared.

"**Begin.**" Boomed the voice of the Cagliostro.   
Squall's attention was drawn from the pair of massive iron gates at the far end of 

the fighting ground—the entrance, he assumed, for whatever monster he was supposed to battle—to a tiny sparkle of gold light flashing from a metallic sphere perched high atop what he had assumed to be simply an ornamental turret jutting from the top of the ancient quarry. His gaze fell full upon the flashing object and it flared brilliantly—drowning the world in a wash of golden brightness. The light permeated him. It washed through the deepest recesses of his mind and scoured the darkest corners of his soul. Squall closed his eyes, but the light was inside of him. It was not painful, it was not blinding, it was simply everything. The brightness was everywhere, and he suddenly feared he might lose himself in it. 

…

Kiros Seagill's eyebrows lowered slightly as he depressed a switch set into the molded-acrylic control board of the Lunar Gate's E.M. launch center. He leaned in close to the microphone pickup. "Yes, Laguna, I'm sure it's perfectly safe. Look, my friend, the more you think about it, the more nervous you will become. Just let us launch you." He was careful to switch the receiver off as one of the duty techs appeared from nowhere and stepped over to him, looking more than a little nervous.

"Sir, I'm not so sure this is a good idea." The technician bobbed on the balls of his feet. "I mean, you're asking me to violate just about every procedure in the book, Sir. I really wish you'd wait until the operations control manager gets here."

Kiros smiled patronizingly. "Don't worry Mr…" He squinted at the identification badge hanging from the man's jacket. "…Sharp. This installation was built to be flexible in times of need. Why, the man down there," Kiros waved a hand toward the transparent flooring of the control room and Tin Can Shooter No. 3, "he is the one who came up with the idea for this place, and he's confident that everything will go as planned."

A pained look crossed the tech's face. "But, Sir, we've never done a sub-orbital shot with a test dummy—let alone a live human being—and he's, well, he's the _president_." Kiros could see that the man was trying to work up the nerve to tell the presidential advisor that he couldn't shoot his friend down a half-mile long steel tube, over an ocean, and down into unfriendly territory. "If something happened… I mean, no cryostasis, no support systems…" 

The weight of a large hand on his shoulder quieted the man for a moment. Ward looked down at him. "…."

"Mr. Zabac is right." Kiros broke in on the silence. "The third fleet is standing by just off the coast of the Mare Lela peninsula. Everything will be fine."

In the cramped, plastic-coated cell of the rail-gun pod, President Laguna Loire—having given up on the container's communication's equipment, began banging a fist on the fiberglass wall. The hollow whonking sound seemed quite loud in the enclosed space, but he was unsure if anyone outside would ever hear him. He paused long enough to roll over in the coffin-sized compartment and palm the release plate on the pod's hatch. Again, the familiar voice of the onboard computer told him: "Pod is in firing position, all hatches locked for launch."

"Oh boy…" Laguna rolled back over, and began kicking at the walls of the oversized plastic bullet. 

He was still wincing from the bruised toes when a speaker—hidden behind his back—crackled to life. "Okay, Laguna, I've just received final confirmation from the launch staff that this is perfectly safe—they told me they do this kind of launches all the time. So, **now** are you ready to go?"

"No, Kiros, I've changed my mind." Laguna said flatly. "I want out." 

"What was that?" A sound that could have been interference—but sounded suspiciously like pages of an operations manual being mauled broke from the speaker. "Your last transmission broke up. Did you say you were ready?"

"No! Get me out of here!" Laguna shouted. "Kiros! Do you hear me? This is a direct order from your president! Let me out of this pod!" Even as he rotated in the claustrophobic space, Laguna could make out the buzzing sound of the rail-gun's high-voltage electromagnets charging up in preparation for launch. His hair began to stand on end, and the air smelled of ozone.

"Okay, Mr. President. If you're all set, then…" Kiros glanced at the speaker volume knob—turned to its lowest setting. "…launch in five… four… three…" He flipped up the plastic guard covering the launch button. 

"KIIIIIIROS!!" Laguna's transmitted shout was almost at whispering level.

"…two…one…**fire!**" Kiros suddenly found his hand restrained by the wrist. He looked up at the concerned face of the large man leaning over him.

"…." 

"It's okay Ward. I'm sure this will work out." Kiros nodded slightly toward the launch tubes. "Besides, Laguna likes jumping into crazy things like this head-first. And…" Kiros lowered one eyebrow. "…you know we're just helping Laguna out. Just like he's always done for us; don't you remember how he 'helped' us escape from the Crystal Pillar on Centra?"

The smile on Ward Zabac's face as he mashed the firing button with one ham-sized fist indicated that he did, indeed, remember how Laguna had facilitated their hazardous escape from the Estharian forces.

The control room brightened with the flash of electrical discharges as the president of Esthar was sent down the long mass-driver, up through the atmosphere, and into space—screaming the whole way.

…

A low mutter ran through the younger ranks of assembled servants—nothing in the area moved, not even the challenger. A few turned to their friends with questioning glances. Having never seen a trial before, they were confused at the lack of action.

Suddenly, the light was gone. Squall was bathed in the darkness of the deepest cavern in the darkest hour of the longest night. He could see nothing, feel nothing, he did not know whether his eyes were open or shut. 

"Chose." A voice whispered from behind him.

Squall whirled—or at least he though he moved. In the blackness, it was impossible to tell.

"Chose." The voice was louder now.

"Chose what?" Squall demanded. He clenched a fist, but then again, maybe he didn't—there was no way to be sure.

"Chose." The voice commanded. 

As Squall opened his mouth to protest—or maybe he was simply standing there immobile—something emerged from his blindness. Like the light-ghost that dances across the inside of your eyelids after staring at the sun, the thing was there, but at the same time it was not. Squall tried to squint. Slowly, slowly, the shadow in the darkness resolved into a recognizable form; a gunblade. 

"**Chose.**" 

Indeed, Squall saw that he did have a choice, for beside the gunblade, a wavering, formless cloud appeared. Squall flinched the moment he laid eyes on it. "No!" He tried to step away from the thing, for, from it emanated everything he had ever tried to hide from in his life. It was a cloud of his nightmares, and it was growing—advancing on him, threatening to engulf him. Whirling before his eyes, it flashed the scenes of his greatest fear, his greatest sorrow, all that which he had tried so hard to keep bottled up inside of him. 

"**Chose.**" 

Squall tried to twist away, but was rooted in place. He tried not to see, not to feel again, the broken faceplate, the retreating white dress, the two rings laid on the cold wood, the limp figure falling from the hands of the blond knight, _and the… the look in her eyes._ that world-dropping sight of fear and pain as she fled from him. Squall closed his eyes, but his lids were transparent glass.

"**Chose!**"

He was drowning in it, his own need for her—his reason for fighting, dying, living—dragging him down into the depths, when he reached out for the only defense he had ever known. His gloved hand wrapped around the contoured grip, that oh-so-familiar mass sliding into its resting place against his palm. The long silver blade reflected darkness.

"**You have chosen**."

The cutting edge of the weapon in his hands flared brilliantly as it descended. In the flash of searing pain that followed, Squall felt himself being ripped apart, shredded into a thousand pieces, and scattered across the sky.

And he was back. The roaring of hundreds of voices—the shouts of the servants, the chanting of the acolytes—filled his ears. Squall might as well have been deaf for all the attention he paid the clamor, for there, standing before him, was Squall Leonhart. 

Squall blinked. There, standing before him, was Squall Leonhart. 

Squall's brow furrowed.

He frowned, then something caught his eye—behind his own scarred visage, high amongst the crowd, surrounded by a score of black-robed acolytes, was his sorceress, Rinoa Heartilly. Even from this distance, he could still see the fear in her eyes as their gazes met. Then, the black-clad figure before him turned to look toward the sorceress as well, and Squall snapped.

"No!" The gunblade described a blazing blue parabola in the air as he Squall brought it down on his head. A shower of sparks erupted from the weapons as Squall brought his own blade up, blocking the blow. "You don't deserve to look at her, you bastard!" He gritted his teeth, bearing down with all his might.

"That's right, you don't!" Squall shouted, even as he dodged clear of the locked blades, drawing his own weapon away and whirling it around his head, then over and down, only to find himself blocked by… himself.

"You're responsible for this! You're responsible for my pain!" Squall drove forward after parrying the blow, thrusting again and again at his heart.

Every attack was diverted, every motion of Squall's gunblade already anticipated and blocked or dodged. "And you, mine!" He retorted.

Rinoa felt a dozen arms hold her back as she started forward. "He has made his choice." A voice whispered from nowhere.

Involuntarily, the tips of her fingers crackled with magical energy, but immediately, she felt the flames of her sorcery smothered by the unseen force. "No. He will not allow you to help him." The thought of turning to confront the speaker never crossed Rinoa's mind—for it would mean taking her eyes off the strange battle unfolding below. 

Like a malignant tumor deep within the brain, the searing pain of watching the two mirror-images of her knight attack each other was too much to bear, but to remove her eyes from the horror below, for even a second, would mean a death beyond death to her. Every muscle in her body tensed, she wanted to flinch with every blow barely blocked, every stab through the heart narrowly dodged. But the nightmare of the battle did not end with simply what she could see and hear. _I… I can't feel you, Squall. I… I don't know which one of you is real… or are you both…?_ "Please…" Rinoa's lips formed the shape of the whisper, but no words came. "Please stop it…"

She received no reply.

"Why are you fighting me?" Squall coughed on the dust kicked up by his feet.

"I am you. I have to fight..." Squall grunted as the shock of steel-on-steel shivered down the blade and into his arm.

"…because I am a mercenary…" Squall blocked a blow identical to the one he had just delivered.

"…and I don't know any other way." Squall's foot slid on a pebble even as the other black-clad figure stumbled.

"But… Rinoa." Even without looking, Squall knew his gunblade thrust—from behind the back—had been countered. 

"You cause her pain, Squall…" He was fighting a mirror.

"…so I have to kill you." A terrible realization dawned within him. His guard fell, only for an instant.

"I have to kill myself!" Squall growled as he drove in through the opening in his own defenses with his gunblade.

He sidestepped the blow a millisecond too late, and the blue blade parted the cloth protecting his shoulder as if it were paper, his skin, living tissue and bone offered little more resistance, but even as he scored the hit, Squall's own gunblade was tracing the exact same mark across his body. 

The doppelgangers backed away from each other, circling, panting, and bleeding. It was not the pain that concerned either one of them, but rather the lack of feeling and control in their hands and arms that was the result of severed nerves and muscle. 

Squall shook his head. "I can't survive this." 

"I never really wanted to." Squall lied.

"I wonder…" The black-clad figure was breathing heavily. "…what the other choice would have been like?"

"I never had a real choice." Moving more cautiously now—still not willing to give in to the inevitable end, Squall probed his own defenses with a gentle deadly thrust. 

"Are you so sure? Couldn't we have ever been together—even with the fears, even with the openness and… and… even without my shell? Couldn't she have ever gotten to know me?" Squall knocked the razor-sharp edge away with a backhanded swing. "I mean, really know me?" Even as he spoke the question, the damning answer swept over him.

"She didn't want to know me. She hates me. They all hate me, and they all leave me." Squall, who had never put much stock in spoken words, wondered how it was possible they could cut so deep.

"I think I talk to myself too much." Squall said, slowly backing away from himself.

Sharing a wry smile with his opponent, Squall also retreated several paces. "Still, I would have liked to see her…"

"…one last time…"

"…even if she does hate me." The Squalls nodded, and—as one—turned toward the stands.

The tears streaming freely down her face tried so hard to heal the wounds of her beloved, but they only managed to dampen the layers of dust lying over the rough stone bleachers. Then Rinoa saw the two knights turn toward her. "No!" She gasped as the realization of what was about to occur struck her.

"This is how things should be." Squall said, turning back toward his own hated visage.

Squall nodded in concert with himself. "It's better this way." No one on the battlefield was convinced. 

Simultaneously, both knights charged recklessly forward. Giving no thought to defense, both swung their brilliant blue weapons in screaming arcs toward the other…

…

The incessant buzzing tone only served to set the frazzled young radar operator even more on edge. She risked a nervous glance around the ship's CCIC to see if anyone else had noticed the flashing warning light on her readout screen. The CO's back was—thankfully—turned to her. He had already given her a dressing down once this shift for sounding a false alarm when she had accidentally miscalculated the height of a civilian airliner and shouted to everyone in the darkened information center that it was within the collision envelope of the president's pod. 

"How the hell could an **aircraft** be anywhere near the president's **space** pod, soldier?!" She winced at the memory of his angry voice. "Next time, use some goddamn common sense!"

But she had been using common sense. It was, after all, the _president_ up there—the hero of Esthar—his fate resting solely in her hands, and those of the other fleet radar operators. She grimaced. _Though, there's not a whole lot we can do if something goes wrong…_ The thought was brought home by the persistent alarm—which continued to ring even after she ran a quick system calibration. She squinted at the numbers one last time. No, it was true, the pod really **had** changed course—even though that was impossible for the unguided projectile…

"And we're now looking at a crash landing somewhere in the mountains—at least seventy miles inland," she finished.

The CO's mouth tightened into a thin line. It seemed fairly obvious that he didn't believe her story. "That's impossible. There's nothing up there that could change the course of the pod."

"I know, Sir, but my readings check out—the president's transport is falling off-course as we speak." She persisted. 

"Well, since you seem so sure about this—just like you were sure about that plane earlier today," the CO sneered as he continued loudly, "then why haven't we heard from other radar operators in the carrier group?" He folded his arms across his chest.

"I… I don't know, Sir, but don't you think this is import—" The ringing of a hotwire inter-ship telephone interrupted the radar technician. A moment later, she was both horrified that her suspicions had been confirmed, and feeling a slight twinge of satisfaction as she watched the CO's face turn a sickly pale.

…

The dunes stretched for miles. Lumpy and misshapen, they marched in uniform disarray toward the distant horizon. Some were dark, rough like clods of earth thrown up by the tread of giants. Others were light, smooth like the dust mountains that are swept across the eastern desert by the tireless winds. Great canyons and arroyos were carved between the sloping sides of the dirty hills; each one stained a deep blackish red.

Far, far away—at the very horizon, a huge wall of stone soared heavenward. Up, up it rose until it seemed to block out the sky. Higher still, perched atop this great monolithic ridge—nearly at heaven's door—a pair of knobby feet, shod in the rough servant sandals, partially covered by the brown servant cloak, flexed their toes with the shock of the sight their owner now beheld. 

Squall watched the rolling sea of dunes transform back into the scuffed and bloodied soil of the Challenger's Arena as he rolled up onto his side, his hands still stinging from the shock of the mighty force that had ripped his weapon from them. As he turned, he saw his twin staggering to his own feet. This was not, however, what caught his attention. Instead, his gaze was captured by the sight of two brilliant blue gunblades, locked in parallel—one inches above the other—driven into the rotting steel of the giant rusted sword that had fallen between the doppelgangers.

"You…" The Squalls turned from the sight of their weapons at the sound of the voice. "…and you…?" From behind the layers of blood-red fabric, Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed. Odin's mighty sword—the unstoppable Zantesuken—glinted in the sun as its aim slowly drifted from one Squall to the other. "Where is my enemy?"

"Here." Both Squall's spoke as one, but their voices were drowned out by the noise of the mighty concussion that shook the arena—indeed, the entire valley.

"Squall!!" Rinoa scream was added to those of the multitude watching the battle below as the fighting ground disappeared in a great bubble of white light which burst with an impossibly loud roar—the sound seeming to tear through the planet's core, exploding it, and sending white-hot needles of liquid noise drilling into the onlookers minds. 

Rinoa was not conscious of the release of pressure of the myriad hands that had been holding her back; she did not feel the stone bleachers shatter underfoot as her sorceress power ripped through the living rock. She did not feel the release of the blanketing force which had kept her abilities subdued for so long, just as she was unconscious of her own magic reaching out to the energy released by the crashing pod, suppressing it, pushing it back into the molten rock.

All across the Mare Lela peninsula, long-dormant craters of forgotten volcanoes muttered quietly to themselves as they slept. Springs that had emitted only the gentlest of streams for eons transformed into raging geysers. Cracks opened along old fault lines, and once-quiescent magma pools surged toward the surface for a brief instant. Around the valley of the Fate, great clouds of snow, dust, and debris rose from behind the encircling mountains as thousands avalanches and rock falls disturbed the silence of the high alpine. 

Even as the shocks of geological activity spread across the peninsula in slowly-decreasing waves, Rinoa found herself amongst the blasted dust piles and smoke of what was left of the fighting ground. "Squall!" She could hear her own magic amplifying her cry as it rose above the panicked and frightened babble from the crowd milling about on the ruins of the arena's edge. "Squall! Where are you?"

Squall was gone. Seconds before, his world had turned the shade of heart-breakingly-pure-white that can be seen only once in a lifetime, then the light had descended into eternal darkness. Squall Leonhart was dead.

Even with his eyes shut, the brilliance would not fade away. There was pain, as well. He could not breath. He could not see. He could not hear. 

But he could feel. He could feel the cool touch of her arms encircling him, lifting him ever so slightly. Just as she had lifted him _me?_ in that field of blossoming reunion so very long ago. At her touch, he could breath once more. At the brush of her fingers, he could hear even the silent beating of her heart—a perfect counterpoint to his own. So many of his other senses cried out at their need for her presence, but he ignored them all, concentrating on the vision of Squall's _my?_ angel, hovering above him as sight returned.

He was lost in the vision of that far-off past as, again, the angel's eyes brimmed with joy. She waited only long enough for the first twinges of that longed-for smile to brush his lips before pulling him close once again. 

But they were not living in that perfect moment of the past. Held tightly in her arms, Squall felt Rinoa's heart skip a beat as horrible, horrible thought brushed it's skeletal fingertips over the tip of her tongue, coaxing out the terrifying question. "Squall… is… is it…" _really you?_

He could not speak it, for it was too terrible for words. He could only whisper. "I… I don't know." _Was it ever really me?_

Somewhere, Seifer laughed.

Still, she held him tightly.

The voice returned. So quiet, he knew even Rinoa could not hear it. "Who are you, Squall Leonhart?" Its vocabulary had expanded since it last spoke. "Are you your weapon?" 

It was all gone. All of it. The arena, the smoke, the shouting, he was trapped in the blackness again. Rinoa's absence was the only thing he noticed. "Nooo!" If he had been anywhere, he would have collapsed under the crushing hopelessness that descended upon him. But he was nowhere, and he had nowhere to fall.

"Do you see now? Do you see what it means?" The voice hissed at him mercilessly. "Do you see what it all comes down to in the end?" It continued. "No matter how good you are, Squall. No matter how fast, or how strong, or how skilled you are; none of it matters… Do you know what does matter now, Squall?"

"Rinoa…" Squall tried to squeeze the nothingness shut over his burning eyes.

"Squall?" She was back. It was all back. He was filled again. 

At first, he thought it was still the voice in the darkness, but he slowly realized that the sound was corporeal, and that it was issuing from the same acolyte who had announced the challenge—still perched on the cracked and broken stone bleachers. "Even though you fought with great skill, strength, and speed, you were victorious only because of those you love." Even from across the cratered battlefield, Squall and Rinoa could make out the gesture of the acolyte toward the great depression scooped from the earth by the thing that had fallen from the sky.

The speaker continued as Rinoa helped Squall to his feet. "Challenger Squall Leonhart, you have been saved today because of your friends…" Squall tilted his head slightly and frowned. "…and…"

Rinoa felt Squall stiffen beside her even as she gasped at the appearance of a staggering figure over the rim of the fresh crater.

"…and you have been saved by your family." The speaker boomed majestically. 

It was at that very moment that Laguna Loire—still suffering from the aftereffects of his wild flight—chose to bend over and empty the contents of his stomach onto the still-smoking ground.

Automatically, Squall's arm not restrained by the sorceress flipped a hand outward and the word passed his lips involuntarily. "Whatever." 

And even through the smudges of dirt, the trails of tears, and from under the weight of all that had transpired, Rinoa could not suppress a tiny giggle at the miserable-looking president and the stonily-annoyed expression on the face of her knight. "It really _is _you." 

Laguna felt an icicle of shock rammed through his core. There, partially sunken into the rock that—moments before—had been liquefied by the impact of his capsule, lay the remains of a familiar clear blue blade. The shattered crystal cutting edge glinted in the shafts of sunlight that managed to wend their way down between rising columns of smoke. _Oh no! Did I just…?_ Even as the thought formed, Laguna's legs were propelling him up toward the crater's edge. He was barely conscious of the heat from the smoldering rock as it radiated through his boots, singing his heels.

Mouth open, trying to draw breath and shout Squall's name at the same time, the cry died on his lips as he crested the rim of the crater. Bruised, bloodied, but still alive, standing not twenty feet away were both Squall and Rinoa. Laguna felt an intense wave of relief was over him, followed by an equally powerful wash of nausea as his stomach finally caught up with his body. Someone was saying something that sounded important, Rinoa and Squall were both staring at him, but the world was spinning underfoot and a dangerous rush of saliva was filling his mouth. The rest would have to wait, Laguna decided—or rather, his body decided for him—as it doubled over and he vomited on the torn earth.

After a moment, Laguna's stomach granted him enough of a reprieve to allow him a quick look over at sorceress and knight. Rinoa was courteously averting her eyes, and looked as though she were trying to hold back a small smile. Squall had his hand over his face. An anticipatory quiver ran through his gut, and Laguna hunched over again. Even as his stomach cramped, he felt a tentative hand placed on his back. Bent double, Laguna tried to wave off the unseen helper. "I'm fine," He gasped. "Just give me a second."

It took all of her self-control not to recoil from the man hunched over before her, but Mary Wilfre managed to overcome her revulsion. "Oh please, handsome challenger, be my champion!"

"Sure, fine, whatever… urgh! Just leave me alone!" Laguna thought the nausea was receding slightly.

"Did you hear that!!" Mary had already turned toward the one acolyte—the announcer—who had remained stationary and standing throughout the ordeal, which had just transpired. "This man will be my champion!!"

"Very well then. Do you, servant, accept this challenger as your champion?" The acolyte had indeed overheard the exchange.

Straightening at last, Laguna turned to face the ruined rock bleachers. Though most of the servants and Acolytes had fled the cracking rock structures after the pod's crash landing, a few brown and black robed figures still remained seated and standing at various points. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Of course I do, you dolt!" Mary screamed up at the acolyte.

"Then, is the challenger prepared?" The acolyte boomed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Laguna cried. 

"Let the battle begin!" And Laguna was frozen by a brilliant beam of golden light.

Squall slowly pulled his had from his face. "I'm sorry about him." He nodded toward the transfixed president of Esthar. Rinoa shook her head and was about to reply, but Squall continued before she could speak. "Rinoa, there's a lot of things I need to…" _ask you, tell you, say, what? Am I going to tell you that you don't have to stay with me if it's not what you want? Am I going to lie and say that you are free from me? What do I need to say?_ He frowned again at Laguna's paralyzed form. _ I'd know what to do… I'd know how to let you go… but that buffoon has to show up… and now I can't think of anything at all._ Before Squall could do or say anything more, Laguna's form became animated once more.

The giant iron gate that guarded a dark passageway leading into the area—still hanging in place by one massive hinge—creaked and groaned mightily as it swung slowly open. Emerging from the cavernous passageway, the beast Laguna was to fight roared it's mighty battle cry. He turned to face the gaping opening at the sound, his face turning from green to white. "A-AAH!"

"Elixir Please." The little blue Pupu squeaked again, waving its arms and tilting its head to the side.

His eyes opened wider than should have been possible, Laguna pointed a shaking finger at the tiny round figure. "A-a-a-a-an… an… Alien!! Aieeeeee!" Turning, he fled screaming through a great gap where the stone walls of the arena had shattered.

…

The smoke ring would have been a beautiful sight—white against the blue background of the cloudless sky—Marshall Russow thought, had it not been for the fact that it had likely issued from a burning APC of his brigade's scouting groups. "Dammit!" He lowered the binoculars. "How many of them **are **there? How they hell can they cover every single pass at once!?"

"Sir, we've lost contact with scout group Delta." Underneath a hastily erected awning of camouflage netting, a radio operator shouted to him. "Probability is high that they encountered hostile forces."

"Unless you think that smoke up ahead is coming from a boy scout's campfire." Russow muttered to himself. He considered going back inside the stuffy darkness of the tent his staff had insisted on putting over the tables holding his charts and tactical maps of the area. "What's the use? We're blocked at every turn." The brigade had been held up for two full days now, as he sent scout group after scout group into the innocent-looking foothills of the mountains up ahead only to be ground to hamburger by unseen attackers—magic users—hiding among the rocky slopes. "Dammit." He repeated quietly to himself. Russow knew it was only a matter of time before President Delphi Matchgar would grow tired of his excuses and order his troops through those mountains—losses to the hidden rebels be damned.

The brigade commander grimaced. _But I wonder—after whoever it is that's hiding in the mountains chips away at our strength—will we still be able to neutralize the Sorceress and the Knight?_

Panting, Seifer leaned against the undercarriage of the overturned jeep. His black weapon, Hyperion, still bearing the score marks of his rooftop battle with the knight he was now endeavoring to protect, dropped to the dusty surface of the vehicle path as his knees buckled and Seifer slid to the ground. His strength was spent.

After two days and one night of brief-but-intense battles with the scouting detachments, and long hard marches between mountain passes—the only inroads into the Mare Lela peninsula—Seifer knew he could no longer keep up the furious pace of the fighting. He had obeyed the sorceress's commands as well as he was able. This battle was now out of his hands.

_ _

…

"Squall?" Rinoa turned. The echoes of her voice died slowly away in the darkness. "Squall? Where are you?" She could still feel the warmth from his hand—slowly fading from her own palm—but he—along with the rest of the world had been swallowed by the blackness that now surrounded herself. Assailed by a rising panic, she cast about, but saw only the total night of the blind. _Wait… no. Is that a light?_ Distance indeterminate in the darkness, a dancing ghostly blue sparkle wavered before her eyes. "Squall…?" She could think of nothing else to say.

"Peace, sorceress. Your knight is safe. You are both in no danger at present." The voice was a hissing electronic rasp. It seeped from the stone walls of the chamber; as her sight adjusted, Rinoa could now make out the rough walls and smooth floor of the room—lit by rippling blue light. The luminescence could have come from the reflection of the sun's shadowy twin off a midnight cobalt ocean. Dancing across the thousand facets of the rocky walls, the dim waves revealed little of the chamber's features.

At the far end of the long room, Rinoa thought she saw something stir. "Who are you?" She took one step forward.

"I am the one many call _The Fate_." Something at the far end of the room was indeed moving. "I know why you have come."

Rinoa squinted as she took another step forward. _It looks almost like… no, impossible._ Even as she tried to see the one addressing her from the far end of the hall-like chamber, the wash of azure light dimmed, shrouding the thing in impenetrable darkness. "Can you answer my question?"

"No." The word was an abrupt buzz. 

Shocked, Rinoa took a step backward. "But… but I thought…"

"There is no answer to your question, child." The voice paused and a quiet hissing noise could be heard. "However, there are things that I know. Things that you should know as well."

Rinoa tilted her head to the side slightly, but the gesture was lost in to the dimness. "These things; do they have to do with my question?"

Again, the answer was brutally short. "No."

There were no words to describe the emotions, thoughts, pain that rippled across the surface of Rinoa's mind. "Then I have no interest in them." She snapped reflexively and raised a hand. "I will leave." Emanating from the air around her fingertips, a golden magic glow began to illuminate the chamber. "Show me the exit, or I will show myself."

For the briefest of instants, the thing at the far end of the hall was illuminated in a wash of indigo as the ambient light overwhelmed and extinguished the witch's glow. "Be still, sorceress!" Though still a rasp, the voice rang sharply with command. 

Rinoa was silent—not because of the return of the force sealing her powers, not because of the authoritative voice, but because of the shock of seeing the… thing that rested against the far wall—wings spread wide and fixed in place by dark black spikes driven through them into the rock. "I have existed for far longer than you could even imagine. I know the webs of probable past and possible future as the bat knows the night. If I have something to tell you, then you will listen, and you will learn."

Rinoa still had no words.

After a long pause, broken by the periodic slow hissing, the thing began to speak again. "There has existed, and there will exist, a country on the globe of today known for its once-deep forests, once-lush flora, and war-torn history. Do you know of this place, sorceress?"

As if the words left her lips of its own accord, Rinoa barely realized that she was answering. "Timber..."

"Yes, and from this country, some years ago, a man left his family. He left the bucolic life of his ancestors on a quest for greatness in the empire that has existed—and will exist—the land known as _Galbadia_." The voice paused, and the quiet hissing returned for a moment. "This man was driven by some inner fire, an indomitable spirit not often seen in the pages of history, and he quickly rose to positions of great power after choosing the course of a warrior."

Shaking off the trancelike state she had fallen into, Rinoa held up a hand to the monster at the far end of the chamber. "Stop. I know this tale too well already. I have no wish to hear it again. There are other things I—"

"Silence!" The voice commanded, and Rinoa was compelled to comply. "You know nothing, sorceress." A brief hiss. "The truth has been hidden from you, and you have turned away from it as well. Now is the time that you must know it in full." The voice paused, but no hissing was heard. "This man gained almost everything he had ever dreamed of. Fame, power, wealth, eventually even love. It was all his. But he still lacked the one thing he desired most; the understanding and respect of the father he left behind in Timber."

Rinoa closed her eyes. _It's true. But my father never deserved grandpa's respect. Look at what he did to his home._

"Before he could gain this last thing, the keystone to his ambitions—the one thing that kept the fires of his drive to succeed burning so hotly—circumstances, fate, intervened." Another hiss. "You see, the times of this man's life were troubled—not as troubled as some I have seen, but more so than most. A powerful and despotic sorceress had risen to power in the land across the sea, and Galbadia's defenses threatened to collapse under the pressure of the relentless assaults from the sorceress's troops." 

_Yes, my father fought against Adel's forces during the sorceress war. Yes, Eshtar was the aggressor then, but it is what he did near the end of the war that I, we, Timber, can never forgive him for. _Rinoa drew in a half-breath, it left again as a half-sigh.

"Battered from years of constant invasions, Galbadia was failing. The nation had no resources, no defenses, nothing left with which to fight the sorceress. Bands of raiders roamed freely across the Galbadian countryside, kidnapping children, killing citizens, and searching for the successor to the sorceress. To forever establish domination over Galbadia, the sorceress had commissioned the construction of an impossibly immense project—an ocean-spanning railroad that would channel the full military might of the sorceress's nation directly onto the Galbadian continent—that was nearing completion. The railroad's final destination was along an uninhabited section of Timber's coast." It could have been Rinoa's imagination, but the shimmering light seemed to dim slightly. "Despite this, Timber resolutely insisted upon neutrality, and made no preparations to repel the inevitable legions that would come swarming across the giant bridge. Without Timber's resources, Galbadia could not hope to continue fighting, and without control of the end of the rail bridge, it could never repel the invaders. It was then that this man knew he had to make a decision; invade his homeland, or sacrifice the country he served. "

"Fate, I know why my fa—why General Caraway invaded timber." Rinoa was growing impatient. "That doesn't make what he did right."

The voice ignored the sorceress's outburst as it continued. "So this man, Caraway, made his decision. Timber was occupied, the invasion repulsed. A few years later, Fate intervened again, and the sorceress toppled. The threat to Galbadia evaporated."

Rinoa grimaced. _But he held on. He just couldn't let Timber be free. Too proud. You were always too damn proud._ Rinoa refused to acknowledge the lump that was beginning to rise in her throat. _Too proud to listen to grandpa and let Timber go. And when mom died… to proud to be bothered with me. So you sent me away, back to the home you betrayed._

"These should have been happy times for this man, but—in truth—it was after the war that his true troubles began. Vinzer Deling—then the president of Galbadia—had been given a taste of absolute power while ruling the militarized Galbadia and it corrupted him. Almost overnight—in the blink of my eye—he transformed the once-democratic country into his own personal dictatorship. Deling created his own secret police force and began eradicating those he saw as a threat to his power. Caraway was one of the people targeted for elimination. He should have fled then." At the far end of the room, a clawed hand flexed unconsciously. "But Caraway was as foolish as he was powerful, and as idealistic as he was foolish. He believed he could change Deling, he thought he could convince the ruler of Galbadia to end the military occupation of Timber, he thought he could re-establish democracy in Galbadia, and he thought he could protect his new family throughout. He was wrong."

Rinoa's hand drifted to her mouth. _What does it mean? It's not saying that Deling was responsible for…_

The speaker did not pause, did not draw a long hissing breath, but simply spoke. "The man's wife was then killed in a car accident. An accident where the other driver walked away, uninjured, an accident where the other driver also happened to be one of the top assassins of the Galbadian SS. The man was informed that his daughter would be next." At the far end of the chamber, something dark stirred as silence fell again.

Rinoa couldn't stand. He legs simply ceased to support her. The rock walls of the chamber might have been sturdy throughout millennia, but her world was crashing down about her like so many falling crystal dreams. _Oh god… father… they… mother…_ "No." Kneeling, Rinoa placed one hand over her face. _Is that why you sent me away? _"No." But it was too painful to be a lie. 

After a moment, the voice continued, unperturbed. "So the man took the only option left available to him. He looked for a way to send his daughter out of danger—as far from Deling's reach as possible. But this was not easy. He could not send her to Balamb, Dollett, or Trabia, for Deling would surely hunt her down. He could not send her to Eshtar, the country had sealed itself off from the world after the sorceress war. His only option was to send his daughter back to his family—who would spirit her away into the masses of names lost in the underground of the hidden Timber resistance groups. In return for protecting his daughter, he promised to do his best to keep the Galbadian military from persecuting the freedom fighters." 

"No." Rinoa's voice was barely a whisper. "That's not true. The Galbadians—they fought us—they…" 

"Do you really think a few disorganized untrained resistance cells could have stood up to the full might of the Galbadian military? Do you think any one of your acts of sabotage and sedition against the Galbadians would have succeeded had their armed forces not been ordered to ignore, as much as possible, your activities?" Nictitating membranes flicked over dead gray eyes,

Rinoa was silent. _I never knew… grandfather, why didn't you ever tell me about this? _The questions, though they flowed freely, died before reaching her lips. _No, of course you wouldn't. You couldn't forgive your son for leaving—you could never admit he might have been right. I always knew you were both too proud… but I never thought you'd lie to me._

It was the strangest sensation, feeling the basic tenants upon which your world is built shaken out from under your feet. For the sorceress, it was a physical pressure, pushing on the back of her mind. Rinoa slid her hands through her hair, and clasped them over the rear of her head even though she knew it would do no good. She could no more release the pressure of her emotions than she could forget the words The Fate had spoken. 

"How it aged the man. His only daughter—his only reminder of the perfect life he had sought—now turned from him. He could not risk any contact with her—to do so would endanger her—he could only listen to the reports of his own agents within the resistance group that had taken her in." Black scales shimmered in the ethereal light as the monster turned its head slightly. "Yes, he could only listen and then weep—silently and alone—after hearing the reports about how his daughter was growing to hate the very mention of his name… reports that originated from her two closest friends." 

"Enough!" Hand raised in a vain attempt to ward off the words, Rinoa gasped. "Please, no more." _It's impossible! None of this is real! Nothing it says can be true! Zone, Watts, didn't we almost grow up together? Didn't we fight together… and escape impossible… impossible… Could it be true? Were you really working for my father the whole time?_ The tiny world of the darkened chamber was rushing toward Rinoa at an incredible rate. Life was streaming by her far faster than she had ever imagined possible. Like a fever dream, it was frightening, surrealistic, and incomprehensible all at once. 

_Is my entire life a lie? Have I been manipulated from birth? Father… what have I done to you? Ultimecia… what am I going to do?_A sob broke from Rinoa's frozen throat. _Nothing! Nothing is real anymore! Everything I ever believed in, everything I ever thought I knew—it's all gone now. _On the cold stone floor of the chamber, the sorceress curled into a forlorn little ball. _Is there anything, is there anyone I can believe in anymore?_ The play of azure waves of light offered no answer. The rough stone walls relinquished no echoes of advice long forgotten. Nothing anywhere moved to help the sorceress—adrift on her own uncharted sea. She had never felt so lost in all her life.

It was then that Rinoa felt it. Tentative but strong, uncertain yet steady, his touch—still distant, but warming—caused her to look up. The knight's eyes met with her own, and the slightest of all hesitant smiles quieted the howling of the outside world. The darkness of the chamber was gone, and Rinoa Heartilly was alone with Squall Leonhart—without being alone at all.

…

"Take me back." 

"Not yet, Squall Leonhart." The darkness and the voice were back.

"Take me back to her. Now." Squall's hands ached for his gunblade as his eyes ached for the light.

"No." The word was a low rasp. "I have awaited your arrival for longer than you can imagine. Now, I will answer your question before I will let you leave."

"…Who are you?" Squall took what he thought might have been a step toward the voice. This time was different. This time he could feel the ground, hear the echoes of the pitch-black room.

"No, knight. That is not your question. You know what you must ask. Now say it." 

_No! I'll never give it life by speaking! _"Let me out of this place!" Squall shouted into the darkness.

"Please phrase your answer in the form of a question." The quiet scraping sandpaper voice mocked him. "What thing do you wonder about most? What thing haunts your every waking hour and never allows you rest? What about _her_ torments you so?"

Suddenly, the burning _need_ to know returned full force. Without the presence of his sorceress, as the rusted voice scraped across his nerves, all the uncertainty, all the anguish, all the pain returned. Unbidden, the words rose to his lips. "Why does she run from me? Why does she hate me?"

A horrible staccato screeching filled the room. Slowly, Squall realized that the thing was laughing. "Yes, yes. That is the question." The thing paused and laughed again. "You might ask the same question of me, Squall Leonhart."

"I don't care about you." Squall whispered. 

"You care about no one but her, knight?" Somehow, a questioning tone forced its way into the rusted-machinery voice.

Squall nodded. 

Despite the darkness, the gesture was not lost. "Then…" the sound of dead planets grinding together filled the room; the thing might have sighed. "…perhaps it is best things turned out as they did."

Squall said nothing.

At length, the thing spoke again. The reluctance in its voice was the sound of glaciers descending to the sea. "Some time ago, a child was born. He would have lived a happy life, far away from here with friends, family, love, but for the intervention of Fate. Instead, he grew up alone—with no parents, no friends, no family. He suffered loss, he knew he had suffered loss, and it hardened him to others, to life. But still, there existed a spark within this boy…"

"I know this story, I know my life." Squall's eyes narrowed in the darkness. "I have no wish to hear it retold again."

Once more, the laugh—like seized-up machinery forced to work again—filled the chamber. "You think this is your story, knight?" From somewhere far away came a ripping noise. "No. This boy, he was strong, he did not depend on the support of others. He never had, and he thought that he never would."

Squall almost opened his mouth to protest.

"Yes you do, Squall Leonhart, no matter how much you wish to deny it, you have always depended on those around you, even though you are driven by _the dream_." There was a short pause as the thing drew in a hissing breath. "This boy, he was also driven by _the dream_. His 'romantic' dream, he called it."

_ _

_"I love battles. I fear nothing. The way I look at it, as long as you make it out of battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream."_

_ _

_"What!? Your dream?"_

_ _

_"You have one too, don't you?"_

Squall felt the brush of his own fingers against his forehead. _Of course Seifer had the dream. I never begrudged him that._ But had he ever really listened to him? Had he ever really believed Seifer?

_ _

_"One of these days, I'm gonna tell ya 'bout my ROMANTIC dream!"_

"But this boy… he was also driven by nightmares. And they always revolved around the same person. Slowly, he began to fear the boy in his nightmares, but he could never show it. Instead, daylight turned fear into anger and he fought tirelessly with this other—even though he knew, could sense, that they were the same. Still he fought, though he knew his battles were all in vain. Even then, the boy knew he would fail in the end."

Squall stood silently as the thing paused again.

"Eventually, the boy's nightmare became a reality, and now he lives with it every day. But he does go on living. And…" The thing paused. "And, he even protects the man of his nightmares. Do you know why that is, Squall Leonhart?"

_How can Seifer go on? … I would not. Without Rinoa, I could never live._ Squall shook his head. _Only one thing has kept me alive these past few weeks, only… _Abruptly,Squall's head shot up. _…only one thing kept me alive…_ His eyes widened. _…one thing…_

The grating voice returned. "He awaits the return of his sorceress. He awaits the birth of the daughter of Squall and Rinoa Loire."

Squall's heart ceased to beat. Not a muscle in his entire body moved. As that one second in time stretched on forever, the worlds remained exactly as they had been the second before—every world, but Squall's. 

It should have started as the rumble of the volcano, then it should have built into the screaming fury of the hurricane, it should have shattered moons and caused stars to fall from the heavens. It should have echoed in resonance of every atom of every being that ever was and it should have lasted through five eternities, but it didn't. For Squall was only a man, his scream was only that of one agony, and despite everything, it could not carry beyond the walls of the mean little chamber onto who's floor he at last collapsed.

He fell with his eyes open. He fell with no breath left in his lungs. He fell without ever wanting to rise again. But The Fate cared not. "Yes. He awaits the return of his sorceress, and when she reaches the age of nineteen, they will be reunited."

Squall's eyes did not blink. He was no more animate than the corpse Seifer had taunted in the high mountains.

"And so you see why she runs from you." The voice rasped. "But she knows only part of the story. Do you now wish to hear the rest?"

Silence fell upon the chamber, broken only by the muffled thumping of a heart that Fate would not allow to cease its beat.

"You shall hear it because that is what Fate decrees." The tearing sound returned, but Squall's ears were deaf to it. "The knight and sorceress shall be united, but still separated, for a great evil will return to the world, an evil which propagates itself and moves through time by way of their love for each other. It is a dark and insidious force even I cannot fully comprehend. However, together, sorceress and knight shall defeat it again, but the knight will not survive this battle."

With the slowness of a tiny spark settling into its dry nest of tinder, Squall's consciousness began to return from the tiny shell to which it had fled. His mind stirred. _Seifer will die? Seifer will die and my—the sorceress will be left without her knight._ Squall's eyes finally blinked, slowly. _What would she do then? What would Rinoa do if I were to die? What would I do if…_ Squall already knew the answer to the question. He already knew the reason behind everything that had happened over these past few years. _She came back for **him**._ "But she came back for… Ellone."

"Do you still not see, knight? Do you not understand what I have told you?!" The rasping was rising in volume, again came the tearing noise. "The evil—the thing that hates all mankind—it works through their love for each other. Time is the master of everything, Squall. Even me. Do you think that a sorceress alone could control time?"

"Then, this thing… the sorceress brought it to our time with her?" Squall didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, but he knew he must.

"It gave her the power to come back to a time when her knight still lived. She will be a good and kind sorceress, she will save the world. She would never have come back—never have wished the evil that bereaved her to torment another… had it not promised her the chance to be with _him_ one last time. She had no choice but to agree, and then it conquered her soul. "

Squall did not know what to feel. He did not know what to think. One thought tore at him more than any other, yet it was about a person he knew nothing about. _Still… did I…?_

"Your daughter was already dead, Squall. The thing had erased all traces of her from itself long before you faced the shell called Ultimecia."

The words should have shocked him. They should have sent him reeling, maybe someday they would. But for now, he allowed his brain to store them away, and continue on with his life.

"There is more, but you have heard enough. There are some things you should never know." One last great ripping noise filled the room, and suddenly, everything was illuminated by a dark navy glow. 

An hour ago, Squall would have gasped in shock at the sight of the thing as it shuffled away from a far wall of the chamber. Dark ribbons of blood trailed from great gashes ripped into the leathery wings that protruded from the monster's back. Behind it, seven bloodied spikes still pinned ragged cuttings of flesh to the wall against which it had once been crucified. The spattering of falling blood and clicking of the monster's claws against the stone were the only noises in the chamber. 

Squall stood steadily as it drew closer. The thing was covered from head to toe in glittering black scales. From behind a scratched plate of acrylic set into a mask that covered the creature's face, two flat gray eyes stared at him even as nictitating membranes flicked over them. Rills of leathery descended both sides of the monster's neck, and ran down between the reversed spikes of its arms. They terminated in a pair of hands endowed with five fingers—each, except for the thumb, ending in three inches of hooked claw. Thicker scales covered its upper chest and hid any hint of the humanesque grooves of collarbones and muscle. These same scales descended over what were either breasts or wing pectoral muscles and mixed with three more pairs of reversed spikes at the monster's hips, knees, and shins. Stopping inches from him, it raised one arm, and gently trailed four razor-sharp claws across his chest. He ignored them. "Why have you told me all this?"

Behind the mask, the creature's eyes blinked. "What are friends for?" A speaker set into the faceplate rasped.

"If you are my friend, then why did you try to kill me earlier?" Not for a second did Squall take his eyes from those of the creature. 

The monster's hands rose to the seal of its mask. "Make no mistake. I did kill Squall Leonhart today."

Squall fought down a shiver. He knew it was true. "Why?"

The creature ignored his question. "The Galbadian army is on its way here. They are looking for you and your sorceress. They will not find you. You will take two chocobos from the acolyte's stables and head south—out of the valley."

"And you? When the Galbadians arrive, I'm sure they'll find you quite interesting. Especially when they find out that you spoke with me." Squall's eyes narrowed.

"They will not." 

With a flick of its clawed fingers, the creature released a series of caches on the seal of its mask. Squall was forced to step back as a noxious cloud of gasses emerged from the device the creature was lifting from its head. The dark vapors from the mask cleared, and the creature turned toward the knight. "I have a message for you… Squall Leonhart." 

Squall did not move as the thing stepped up to him. He kept himself from flinching as its spiked arms dug into his back while the monster's arms slid around him, holding him with the strength of despair. His head jerked back as the thing's cold thin lips met his own, but he was held in place by talons of diamond and muscle of steel. He felt the stinging bitter breath of the dark side of the moon—as cold and deadly as unrequited love—before the monster released him. 

It said one thing more, tipping its very-human face back, closing its eyes, and drawing in a long breath of cool air. "Goodbye, knight Leonhart." 

Squall watched as the creature sank to the floor, curling into a fetal position, its still-bleeding wings folding over and tightening against its back. The thing's scales shivered as the poisonous oxygen flowed through its body. He knew the thing was dying. He also knew it should not do so alone. Fighting against his revulsion and instincts he had ingrained into himself, Squall stepped forward, reaching out a tentative hand to the moribund creature. Before his fingers made contact with those black scales, there was a brilliant burst of light from the clear blue sky which suddenly appeared overhead, and Squall's hand came to rest on smooth, warm skin. From her upturned tear-streaked face, Rinoa's eyes met with his own.

The world would collapse, the seven horsemen spread their plagues across the land. Hatred, sorrow, betrayal and death would come; final, empty and cold, but even so, as his eyes met with those of his sorceress, his love, Squall Leonhart knew… and still smiled… for her alone.

Continued on Purgatio's Website (click on the link below)

[][1]__

[Chapter Nine][2]

   [1]: a1\Chapters\eight_two.htm
   [2]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/nine.htm



	9. Constrictio

**Chapter Nine:**

** **

**Constrictio**

The moon was rising, argentine yellow in the fair purple haze of the gathering evening. No clouds graced the indigo darkness of the vault above. From the ground rose an almost visible wash of dun-colored warmth as the deepening evening absorbed the heat of the day. Abruptly, the stillness of the reflected dusk was scattered in a thousand gray-green droplets as the sturdy talons of the large russet chocobo splashed down in the mirrored surface of the tiny roadside pool.

The speedy beast was striding steadily southward, along the widening floor of the valley. Soon, the bird and its two riders would reach the gray expanses of the tidal flats that glistened wetly under the new moon at the mouth of the mountain basin.

Rinoa held back a sigh. She couldn't help but press just the tiniest bit closer to the back of the rider before her. _How much longer can we be here like this? How much longer can I not think about anything?_ But that, in itself,was a thought. Even as the frown creased her features, Rinoa ducked forward to bury her face in that silly furry ruff with which she had become so familiar. Something by the side of the dirt path the bird was striding down caught her eye. "Hey, is that…?" 

Suddenly, the chocobo swerved and warked loudly in protest as Squall jerked the reins. 

Rinoa clung to the knight riding before her as the speedy beast shifted its track. "Squall! What are you—?!"

One black boot in front of the other. One more step, one more stride forward. He had to concentrate now to make it happen—when had he fallen so out-of-shape? He would have stopped to scratch his head, but besides taking too much effort, the gesture would mean a fate worse than death, so instead, he concentrated on pumping one more gasp of air though his burning lungs, one more swing of his leaden arms. 

Then, from behind, his ears discerned the sound of another set of approaching footfalls—besides hers. From some hidden reserve, he rallied the strength to turn his head for a look…

"WAAAAARK!!!"

"AIEEEE!!" Laguna barely managed to fall away from the heavy talons of the giant, russet, beaked beast bearing down on him. The chocobo flashed through the space he had just occupied. 

As it passed, Laguna saw a blue-clad rider waving her arms in apparent frustration with the bird's driver. "Squall! You almost hit him!" 

"I know." 

"Go back!" The voices were growing fainter as the bird raced away.

The shock of brown hair shook before her eyes. "No way." 

Leaning forward, Rinoa took advantage of her position, and shouted loudly—and painfully—into her knight's ear. **"Squall Leonhart! That is a direct order from your sorceress! Now go back, and pick up president Loire!"**

The chocobo was circling around. Laguna didn't know if he had the strength to dodge it a second time. _Well, perhaps it's for the best…_ He looked back and shuddered as a red-faced figure crested a rise in the trail only a few hundred yards back. It waved its pudgy arms at him, and the mouth worked, but no sound came out. _How the hell can she run so far…?_ He shook his head, and turned to face the oncoming beast. _Run down by a chocobo? Anything rather than face that horrible, horrible, …alien!_ He raised his arms in surrender to the fates.

A moment later, Laguna was rubbing those same appendages, as they had nearly been jerked out of their sockets by a, surprisingly strong, slender set of arms which now rested on the hips of the rider before him as she angrily chastised the chocobo's foremost rider. 

"You could have at least slowed down a little!" Rinoa shook her head as the bird's path described a second large arc and it resumed its previous heading.

Before Squall could reply, a long despairing wail reached the ears of the three riders. 

Laguna saw the slightest flicker of pity cross Rinoa's face as she turned her gaze back toward the figure who had collapsed on the path behind. "Poor Mary." Her brows drew together slightly. "I wonder what her question was?" The look disappeared in a flash as her eyes fell upon the sweaty and disheveled figure of the President of Esthar. "Mr. President. Always a pleasure." Though she was sitting, twisted nearly fully around on the back of a running chocobo, Rinoa managed to give the impression of a curtsey.

"Uh… likewise, um, sorceress." Laguna nodded and tried to smile through a look of perpetual confusion that was becoming—he thought—altogether too common for him. "Uh, Hi, Squall." He nodded toward the back of the knight. 

Squall grunted something unprintable.

…

The curling bow wave spilling from the snow-white prow of the yacht described the perfect curve of a question mark before folding over on itself and spilling, in a wash of glass marble bubbles, across the calm surface of the tropical ocean. A v-shaped pattern of rolling swells from the absolutely clear water displaced by the passage of the luxurious ship spread out behind the vessel for as far as they eye could see. The waves stretched and rippled languorously away from the crystal and aquamarine wake of the ship's propellers. The aquatic evidence of the boat's passage was all that moved. The sky was a motionless painting of wispy fair-weather mares tails and jet contrails, the rest of the ocean was a mirror of blue diamond, and the black gunblade could have been attached to a bronzed statue for all the motion it made as Seifer held the weapon pointed directly at the man's heart, millimeters from his chest. 

"Really, Seifer, darling. There's no need for that." The sorceress purred as she glided up and placed two long-fingered hands on the knight's shoulders. "I'm sure Mr. Norg was simply trying to emphasize a point. He didn't really mean to say he'd kill me," she smiled ice, "did you, Norg?"

Still, the gunblade did not waver, though the man on the wrong end of the weapon was nearly purple and quivering with rage. 

One ruby nail trailed up Seifer's neck and made its way gently along the line of his jaw. "Do be a dear and put the gunblade away for now."

Even as the weapon was slowly lowered, Norg was shouting again. "**You're insane**!! You've seen the reports from the Galbadian spies!! You know what Eshtar has the capacity to—you know what they **will** do when they find out!!" 

Sera dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Of course I know what they will do. I wish to see this thing first hand."

"**NO! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!**" Norg was screaming so loudly and shrilly that Seifer could not help but marvel that the body's vocal cords did not tear. "**The Lunatic Pandora is MINE, sorceress!**" 

Seifer felt the slightest tug from deep within his mind. In the blink of an eye, Hyperion appeared in his hand again, and Norg fell silent as the cold cutting edge of the blade was pressed into his neck. Seifer's arm and shoulder kept him from ducking away.

The sorceress allowed herself a theatrical sigh. "Norg." She spread her hands and took a step toward the man. "Norg, I've explained this to you so many times, yet you still fail to understand." Placing both her hands onto the man's temples, she gazed directly into his alien eyes. "You are mine." Sera tilted her head to the side slightly. "So everything that is 'yours' is also **mine**." With her final word, the sorceress slashed one long nail across the man's face, leaving a long trail of white down one cheek. The white gouge quickly filled with dark red blood, droplets of which began to roll down the man's chin. He did not move a muscle. "This is your final warning, Norg. Either you will accept my control, accept my plans, and do what I say, or I'll have Seifer _encourage_ you to find a new body—and I will alter _your _future as _I_ see fit—_without_ you."

Slowly the flush drained from the man's face. His stare gradually fell from that of the sorceress. He swallowed, and his throat chafed against the blade held to his throat. "I hear…" A muscle in the man's face twitched. "…and obey, sorceress."

Sera nodded to Seifer, and Hyperion once again vanished. "Good." She smiled a narrow-eyed smile. "I'm glad we finally understand each other." She clapped her hands without feeling. "Now, enough about the Crystal Pillar. I have news, instead, about the Sapphire Dream."

The bow still clove through brilliantly clear water, the sky still shone the same robins-egg blue, the clouds remained white and still, but something darkened around the group of three standing out in the open sunlight. 

Sera continued. "It seems our agents—or at least some of them—have managed to retrieve the artifact, however, they've made some unusual requests that they want filled before they'll release it to me."

"So, sorceress, things are not quite in hand as you make them out to be?" Norg dared the tiny jab.

The sorceress tossed her sparkling albino hair to the side with a shake of the head. "Not at all. In fact, things worked out just as I had planned. My contact on the mission to retrieve the object performed admirably. If things had not gone as planned, someone… else… might be in possession of the Dream right now." Her index finger rose. "But, as you have seen, everything always proceeds according to _my_ plan." 

"So again, I am to play the errand boy?" Norg almost spat the words, but he modulated his tone of voice just in time.

The sorceress turned to the tall blond knight. "Forgive me, Seifer, dearest," she brushed his cheek with her lips before placing both hands on his shoulder and resting a few strategic body parts against his side, "but the Shumi does have a knack for incognita that you seem to lack." She turned her head toward the man. "Yes, Norg, you are going to get her what she has requested." Sera blinked. "Her demands are not unreasonable at all—considering the circumstances." She shrugged one shoulder slightly. "Besides, you two have already done business on a previous… _errand_—as you put it."

…

Laguna was becoming distinctly uncomfortable, not only from riding in just about the worst spot on a chocobo that one can choose to sit, but also from the decided lack of conversation between his fellow riders. Early on, Rinoa had done her best to make small talk with the Estharian President, but the difficulty of twisting around in order to speak, and the way in which she kept drifting off on her own thoughts eventually precluded any further conversation. Neither Laguna nor Rinoa felt inclined to attempt to discuss anything of any real importance, and so, conversation had died a lonely death. Squall—of course—had been no help at all.

As the purple dusk had slipped quietly into black night, the path had turned east where the valley terminated in the flat mud of expansive tidal flats. As the stars began to twinkle rainbows in the dark void, bird and riders strode toward the rising moon while the deepening darkness bleached it from blond to albino. The tide was out, far out. From across a slick field of wet, dark sand, the ocean glimmered like a sliver ribbon in the moonlight. The steady footfalls, the day's warmth radiating from the black sand, the quiet rush of far-away night waves all took their toll on the riders, and soon both Rinoa and Laguna were dozing. Rinoa soundly asleep, with her arms wrapped steadily around Squall, Laguna dozing fitfully, waking periodically to steady his perch on the chocobo as his balance shifted. Only Squall and the bird remained awake. 

It was the lack of motion that woke Rinoa. "Squall?" She mumbled sleepily as she raised her head from the depression it had created in his jacket's ruff. 

"Hwazza…?" Laguna, still half asleep, rubbed his eyes.

"The Galbadians are coming," Squall said.

Squinting into the weak light of the false dawn, Rinoa could see that Squall had brought the chocobo to a halt on the top of a small cliff. During the night, the tide had come in, and the ocean now washed tiredly against a tiny strip of still-dry dark sand at the base of the cliff. The wide wet beach of a few hours ago was now submerged. 

"I see them," Laguna gaped widely, then, remembering himself, assumed a rather sheepish look.

Rinoa could see the lights bobbing along the low coastal cliffs as well. Sleep still clearing from her head, she counted at least a half-dozen vehicles before the flashing headlights disappeared behind a dark mass of seaside forest. 

"It's an advance scouting group. At the rate we're going, they'll catch up to us within two more hours." Squall brushed a bit of hair from his eyes.

"Do you think we should stop and fight them?" Rinoa closed her eyes. _I really don't want to use my… powers… right now—not unless I have to._

Squall shook his head. "No. They wouldn't engage us directly. They'd just bog us down until the bulk of their forces could arrive." He frowned at Laguna. "Besides, my gunblade is gone, and I don't think he's armed." 

"No, Laguna not have thunder stick." The president tried to make light of Squall's disrespectful form of address. His humor withered under the knight's stare. 

"So, what should we do?" Rinoa prompted. _He wouldn't have stopped if he didn't have some sort of plan, that's the way he is._

"We're too heavy, we should dump some dead weight." Squall scowled meaningfully at Laguna.

"Squall..." Rinoa frowned at him, the expression emphasizing the warning tone in her voice.

Squall shrugged, avoiding the eyes of his sorceress. "Actually, since he is the _President of Esthar_, I thought Mr. Loire might have some resources we could make use of." 

At the knight's words, Laguna brightened. "He does indeed." The president smiled. "I think I have just the thing to save the _Knight of Galbadia_ from his _own_ military." Unable to resist the jabs, Laguna smirked slightly.

An extra squeeze from arms still wrapped around him and a pleading look kept Squall from rising to the bait. "Alright, then, what do you propose we do, Mr. President?" 

"I say we just keep on running straight—away from the Galbadians," Laguna suggested. 

"If we do that, they'll catch up to us in—." Squall began to repeat himself.

"I heard you, Mr. Leonhart. It's been taken care of." Laguna tried to crack a roguish grin, but the earliness of the hour killed it. "Trust me."

Squall's head whipped around to face forward quickly, but not before Rinoa caught the lines of tendons that appeared in Squall's neck as his jaw locked into place. "Have it your way." He managed to sound civil enough as he urged the chocobo ahead, but Rinoa caught the edge bitterness buried within Squall's voice.

The group rode on in silence. 

…

"Bravo leader, this is Watchdog, timer is at zero-zero, begin your attack run."

"Roger that, Watchdog. Bravo flight beginning run."

"Bravo leader, target is confirmed, strike is confirmed, switch to channel zero-one-three, transfer indigo. Watchdog out."

Squall had taken to periodically checking over his shoulder—it was this motion that kept Rinoa from dozing off, despite the seriousness of the situation, as Squall marked the progress of the pursuing Galbadian vehicles. They were easily visible now, as the moon paled in the face of the approaching day. The sun would crest the horizon ahead in short order. 

"Bravo three, Bravo one, tighten up left, continue terrain masking."

"Bravo flight, this is Eagle Eye, targets at your twelve-o-clock, you have friendlies at eleven-o-clock, don't run them over."

"Eagle Eye, bravo one, confirm target. We'll try not to." 

"Those jeeps mount .50's." Squall said. "They're going to be in range of us in a few more minutes."

"Don't worry about it." Laguna had been seated with knees tightly locked against the chocobo's sides, arms folded across his chest, and head hanging forward. He now stretched and turned his head from side to side. "By that time, the sun will be up. They won't be able to see to shoot."

"That won't last for very long." Squall frowned. 

Laguna waved a hand. "With the dawn comes a new day, with the new day, new hope." 

"Whatever." It was meant to be a growl, and so—not surprisingly—that was what it came out as. Squall tried to urge the chocobo on a bit faster, but the bird refused to increase its pace. Rinoa could tell—just from the particular set of his shoulders—that Squall was about to say something. He was interrupted.

"Lima leader, lima five, away one! Away two!"

"Lima leader, lima three, away one! Away two!"

There was absolutely no warning before the five jets were gone. A quick flash of black, a wash of heat from the compressed air pushed down by their passage less than a hundred feet overhead, and then a roar like the end of the world as the aircraft rocketed down the coastline. Squall landed on his side even as a surprised Rinoa fell on top of him. He rolled across one shoulder and ended up on top of the startled sorceress as he shielded her body with his own. The knight's protect spell washed across them only milliseconds before the sorceress's. 

Laguna seemed not at all perturbed the by noise, however, he was surprised when the chocobo exploded underneath him with a terrified "WAAARK!" shaking off the president, and then dashing off down the edge of the sandy beachside cliffs. By the time Laguna had extracted himself from the tangle of briar bushes in which he landed, the delayed fuses on the cluster munitions dropped by the Estharian attack aircraft had burnt through. The pop-popping noise of bombs exploding amongst the Galbadian vehicles rolled across the quarter-mile of beach that still separated them from the knight, sorceress, and president. 

At last realizing what was happening, Squall rolled off of Rinoa, who proceeded to spit out the dust and grass she had inhaled after being dragged to the ground. "Are you okay?" Kneeling, he offered a hand to help her stand. 

"Yeah, just a little squashed... what happened?" She coughed.

"I guess that guy must have arranged an air strike on the Galbadians. I thought we were being attacked." In the space of a second, Squall managed to glare at Laguna's fallen form, look back at the clouds of dust that had engulfed their pursuers, squint into the rising sun at the sound of approaching helicopters, and then turn his attention back to Rinoa. "…sorry."

"Oh no, don't _you_ start that." Dusting herself off with one hand, Rinoa raise the other to wave a finger at Squall.

Three helicopter gunships roared overhead, cannon roaring as they fired into the clouds of smoke masking what was left—if anything—of the Galbadian scout group. Squall ignored them. "What?" 

Rinoa didn't spare the approaching VSTOL jet transport a single glance as she shouted to be heard over the noise of a half-dozen rocket pods busily turning the beach cliffs a quarter-mile to the west into gravel. "Don't start referring to Laguna as 'that guy' or 'that man'." 

Laguna had managed to clamber to his feet and, not taking the time to remove the prickers embedded in his clothing, he pulled a small cylinder from a pocket, yanked out the pin, and threw the object into the grass a few meters from where he stood. Seconds later, dark green smoke began billowing from the spot where the canister had landed.

Squall looked like he was trying to fight down a scowl. This was a new battle for him, and so, unsurprisingly, he failed. "Why not?" 

At last, Rinoa did look over to the transport, which—landed—was now disgorging a platoon of Estharian marines. "I'll tell you later!" She shouted over the roaring engines of the transport, the thuttering of helicopter rotors, the blast of exploding bombs, and the shriek of another squadron of strike fighters circling high overhead. "I think we'd better go." She pointed to Laguna who was waving excitedly as he ran toward the approaching troops. 

…

Midshipman Thomas Ferguson did not really know what to make of current events. He was excited to finally be getting closer to the action, but at the same time, he was feeling a little anxious about the carrier group's proximity to Galbadia. Then again, the _president_ himself was on board!

Rounding a corner of one of the ENS Super-Carrier, Regulus's passageways, Thomas stopped and saluted as two officers walked past, each trying to talk and gesture at the same time. They returned the salute automatically and didn't give him a second glance. He allowed himself a quick breath of relief before continuing to stride purposefully down the narrow passage. _I'm not supposed to be in the service bays right now… but, the **president of Esthar**…_ It wasn't like he was breaking any major rules, Midshipman Fergison reasoned with himself. And the chance to see—maybe even meet _the_ _president_. How proud would that make his parents when they read his next letter? What would Ashleythink of _that_? It took quite a bit of self-control for Mr. Ferguson not to whistle and skip down the bare, pipe-lined hallway.

"I guess ma was right after all." Thomas whispered to himself as he turned yet another corner on his way toward the cavernous lower hangers of the aircraft carrier. It was his mother, after all, who had—_well, she didn't **force** me to go for carrier duty…_ However, Midshipman Ferguson _had_ dreamed of serving on a destroyer—for a while. 

_"Tom, I do **not** want one of my boys running around on one of those tiny rusty bathtubs. Are you sure you don't want to take your brother Jim up on his offer?"_

_"An accountant's assistant? Really, mom, what a dead-end. I **want** to serve my country! I've already gone through training and everything, I can't back out now." _

_"I know dear, but I don't think I could stand the worry—you on a little toy gunboat and all… aren't there… aren't there any other—any bigger ships that need you?"_

Thomas grinned ruefully. Well, you sure weren't going to meet anybody important on a destroyer, that's for sure. "Knight Leonhart, Sorceress Heartilly, and President Loire. All at once! Man, oh man!" Rounding the final turn, still shaking his head, he emerged into the hanger, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Before him, two men stood facing each other, though they both wore different clothes than the TV usually showed, their faces, their stances, their movements, were unmistakable. Thomas did his best to keep from making a noise. Then, something happened that made him gasp. Suddenly, Midshipman Thomas Ferguson wished very much that he were aboard another ship, or back in boot camp, or anywhere but here, because, before his very eyes, Squall Leonhart's fist connected with the face of the President of Esthar. 

…

"I can show you to your quarters now, if you'd like." The sailor's voice, though kept low, seemed loud in the stillness of the empty briefing room. 

"Um… just a second." Rinoa twisted in her seat to face him. "Could you give us a minute?" 

"Certainly, Ms. Heartilly, I'll wait outside, just come and get me when you are ready." The man was unsure of whether to bow or salute, so he settled for a befuddled expression and fled the room. 

Turning back to the silent knight, the pleasant look upon the sorceress's face faded into somberness. "Squall, what are you thinking about?"

Two fingers resting against his brow, Squall shook his head the slightest bit. "…Everything." He turned his face toward Rinoa. "Rinoa, god, there's so much I want to tell you, I don't know where to begin…"

Something deep within the sorceress's calm brown eyes softened, the tiniest line in the set of her chin, or perhaps in the angle of her eyebrows changed. Her lips parted as she seemed about to say something. Instead she drew in a quiet breath. At last, she did speak. 

"Yes I do." Squall voiced the words with her. His gaze broke from her own for a second, then returned, all confusion gone. "I do know. And I'm going to tell you now, here, in this nasty little room on this cold metal ship, I… this… this isn't the right place, but I know this has to be the right time." He shook his head slightly again. "I have to tell you now because I'm afraid if I don't…" He fell silent as Rinoa placed one finger to his lips.

_…if I don't, there might not be another chance… don't say that, Squall, please._ Her eyes pleaded with those of her knight.

Before the universe could act to prevent it, before Fate could conspire to stop the words, Squall drew breath and spoke. "I love you, Rinoa Heartilly. I know, somewhere…" His own hand gently guided hers over his heart. "…somewhere in here, I have always loved you. And with everything everywhere, I know that I will always love you." And there was nothing more for Squall Leonhart to say. Ever.

_Except for one thing._

Before chaos could weave one more strand in it's immense web, before stars could explode, and moons crash to earth, Rinoa answered the unspoken question. "I love you, Squall Leonhart, forever. Forever." And both knew it was true beyond anything in all of space or time. 

Because it was true, Rinoa forgave him. She forgave how his muscles turned to steel, forgave the tightness of the embrace into which he escaped, forgave the tiny shaking of murdered sobs. She knew and forgave him for ever believing Seifer, for ever doubting himself, for everything. Someday he would not fight his feelings for her, someday he would let her see them, but as the warm tears squeezed from under closed lids, Rinoa already knew, and forgave.

Still, she could feel that last shred of composure fraying, so—because she loved him—she saved her knight. She pretended not to see him desperately patching his façade of strength as she dried her own eyes, pretended to believe that there had never been any tears in those eyes, never any change in that expression.

They sat, in the mean little room, on the foam-and-plastic chairs, under the fluorescent lights, holding hands, neither brave enough to look at the other for what could have been eternity—had it not been much, much shorter. 

At last, not really knowing why, Squall spoke again. "Rinoa… the fate, it…"

"Squall, wait." Rinoa turned to him, still looking down. "I know everything I need to know right now." She shook her head, almost sadly. "If we… if we start talking now, I don't know if we'll ever stop and…" She drew in a breath. "There's something I need you to do first."

"Anything." The reply was instantaneous and utterly sincere.

At last, Rinoa did look up—in the same instant as Squall's own gaze rose. "Go talk to him, Squall." Neither knight nor sorceress could blink. "Please, go talk to your father."

…

Underfoot, the stained metal decking of the hangar aged just a bit as the two men stared at each other. One of Laguna's eyebrows rose, the other lowered. 

Squall was carved from stone—or rather ice, or even something much colder. Laguna suppressed a shiver at the frozen hostility that seemed to radiate from the younger man. He didn't know what to say, so he just remained silent. 

They stood in the nearly empty bay for an eternity. Overhead, the clanking of the carrier's catapult echoed against the bare metal walls, punctuated by the periodic roar of jet engines as the ship flung her fleet defenders into the bright blue sky to meet the Galbadian aircraft that would undoubtedly be heading toward the carrier group, now that their attack on the forces pursuing the Estharian president had revealed their position.

At long last, the silence was broken, not by spoken word from either man, but from an overexcited Lieutenant who appeared out of nowhere. 

"President Loire! President Loire!" The seaman skidded to a halt before the president of Esthar, almost-but-not-quite forgetting to salute before blurting out his report. "Sir, after we lost Satellite surveillance over Galbadia, we re-started our high-altitude spy plane over-flights. At thirteen-hundred hours Estharian Standard Time, our last flight over Galbadia revealed that the Lunatic Pandora was no longer anchored in the Desert District."

"Uh-oh," Laguna said.

"Sir, we've just gotten ground confirmation of the information we received from our last flight; the Lunatic Pandora is moving east, out over the ocean. It looks like it's heading for Esthar, Sir." The man paused only long enough to take a half breath. "Cabinet Member Kiros Seagill has requested that you return to Esthar at once, Sir." 

Laguna nodded. "Yeah, I probably should do that." He turned to Squall. "Ready to go back to Esthar, Squall?"

Squall scowled and kept silent. 

"Oh, no, Sir. Sorry, but theRegulus only carries one U-23, Sir. That's the only bird with long enough legs to get you all the way back to Esthar—even with in-flight refueling, and the 23's only have room for one back-seater. We were planning on putting the knight and sorceress on the Naso—she's a T-class destroyer; the fastest ship in this carrier group, plus she has a better chance of avoiding the submarine blockade the Galbadians are sure to be throwing up right now—trying to keep this battle group from steaming east." Talking far to quickly, the man carefully avoided looking toward Squall. "They'll get to Esthar within three days."

"Uh, well, okay. Tell them to get the jet ready. I'll be up in a few minutes." Laguna thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, he saw only Squall. 

"Right away, Sir." The Lieutenant saluted and dashed off. 

Laguna frowned, there was something peculiar about the man standing next to him. "Squall? You heard that? That's okay with you, right?"

Something happened, and Laguna found himself staring at the floor. Like watching a movie in reverse, the signals from his shocked nerves reached his brain and he felt force of the stinging blow. The President of Esthar staggered.

He should have stood back up with a hurt expression on his face. He should have frowned and looked sad and asked why the heck Squall had hit him for anyway. He should have put on some goofy expression and gone through a couple of Lagunaisms and maybe thrown in some gallows humor to boot and just been even more funny and silly, but he didn't. Instead, The President of Esthar straightened, and turned back toward Squall Leonhart. "Okay. I probably deserved that." He placed a hand to his jaw, which—despite how it felt—didn't seem to be broken. "Do you feel better now, Squall?"

"No." 

"I didn't think so." Laguna turned. "Hey you! Get out of here!" He shouted at the young man who had started toward the pair upon seeing Squall strike the President.

Squall finally answered the president's question. "No Laguna, it's not okay with me."

Laguna sighed in a very un-Lagunalike manner. "I didn't think it would be, Squall, but I don't have a whole lot of choice."

"You had a choice before." Squall spat.

"I know." Laguna looked down.

"You had a choice when you sent Ellone back, when you stayed in Esthar, when you—" Squall was cut off.

"I know, Squall, I know what you are talking about." Laguna didn't look up. "I know I had a choice, I know what I did, I know."

"And so what? You think that means that you don't have to hear it again from me? You think I'm saying this for your benefit?" Squall shook his head. "No! I want you to hear this, and an want to hear everything from you!" Squall clenched his fists. "Not once did you ever visit, ever write, ever even let me know that you fucking existed. Even Ellone wouldn't tell me about you. I grew up without a father, and I always thought it was just fate." 

Laguna laughed; a short, ugly, barking noise.

Squall gritted his teeth, he felt like hitting the man again, but instead he kept talking. "I thought you were dead. I grew up alone, when I didn't have to, and I want to know **why, **-- !" Squall had tried to say it, and found that he couldn't. _It doesn't matter, you're not really my father anyway. I have no father._ "I just want to know why!"

"Why?" Laguna's head slowly rose. "Alright, why." As his gaze met with Squall's angry stare, he shook his head slightly. "I can't tell you all of it now, Squall, I'm sorry, but I can say this; what would have happened if I had taken you and Ellone to Esthar with me? What if you had grown up as the son of the President of Esthar? Would you ever have known about Seifer? Would you have learned the things you've needed to know?"

"I wouldn't have needed them." _I wouldn't have needed… but what about Rinoa? How would I…_ Squall's hand rose to his forehead.

From the entrance of an elevator to the upper deck, someone shouted. "Mr. President, the aircraft is ready for launch.

Still facing Squall, Laguna held up a hand toward the man even as his head tilted to the side just a hair. "Would you have met Rinoa?"

"Yes." Squall whispered.

"You're so sure. How can you be so sure?" Laguna folded his arms.

"It was meant to be." Absolute conviction.

"Squall, I can't give you the answers you want. I'll never be able to justify what I did to you, we both know that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you and your sister with Edea." Laguna shook his head along with Squall.

"That's not good enough." Squall saw Laguna whisper the words even as he spoke them.

"I know, and I know." The older man sighed.

"Mr. President, we need to get you airborne." The man had started walking toward the pair.

Laguna took a step toward Squall, his voice dropped slightly. "You may have been the last to talk to The Fate, Squall, but you were not the only one to do so." He tapped an index finger to his temple. "I know everything, Squall. She told me all of it. No one should know so much about their own lives as I do—as you will." He shuddered. "It is good you have someone to share it with." With that, Laguna turned to leave. He found himself restrained by a grip of iron.

"That's it?! That's all you're going to say?" Squall looked incredulous. 

"That's all you need to know." Laguna pulled away from the knight's grasp. 

"No. I need to know all of it!" Squall demanded. "You must tell me."

"I'm sorry Squall, I have to go." Laguna did not turn as he spoke.

Squall's face was locked into a snarl. "No… _father_… don't walk away from me, again." The words were bitterness, malice, sarcasm, all warped into a twisted sentence, but he had managed to say it. _Father._ And somewhere, buried underneath all the hurt and hatred, all the anger and agony, was the tiniest hint of sorrow, of pleading. 

Laguna froze. Ever so slowly, he turned. "I'm sorry. I have to go." On his face was nothing but absolute resignation to what was to come. "It has to be this way, _son_."

…

With the heavy combat gloves on, removing the thin silver bracelet from the dead girl's wrist was proving more difficult for Carl "The Snake" Egger than he had first anticipated. Still, despite his difficulties, he was having the time of his life. "And I thought prisoners 'mpressed into military service was just cannon fodder." He chuckled to himself. But no, he was not just cannon fodder. They had given him a gun. They had sent him on a train. They had put him—and nearly three hundred other former maximum-security-prison inmates in charge of guarding one of the most impressive pieces of military hardware ever constructed—the captured Balamb Garden. Carl shook his head as he tugged harder. "SeeDs, hmmph. Fuckin' pussys if ya ask me." He still couldn't believe how easily the first wave of attackers had fallen—after descending on the open decks of the gardens via ropes dropped from those stinking jet transports that had run off—all of them cut down by the storm of disorganized gunfire from the former inmates. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Carl, and a bit of a leering grin began to spread across his face. He left off trying to remove loot from the body and--.

Before Carl could make another move, one of his brighter comrades decided to ensure that the corpse he was looting was really and truly dead. About the same time as the muzzle of the man's gun swung toward the immobile SeeD's head, all hell broke lose as the corpse before him suddenly screamed "NOW!!" while simultaneously kicking the man's gun away and burning off the top half of his body with a Firaga spell. 

Distracted by the shout, Carl failed to notice Isis's trident until it was protruding from his chest. Before removing her weapon from the already-dead man, Isis paused a moment to adjust the silver band encircling her wrist. The pause might have cost her life, had the attacker, she failed to notice approaching her from the side, not been sent flying by a blast of dark ammo. 

Irvine tipped his hat to the pig-tailed student's wave even as he eliminated a convenient line of under-armored Galbadians with a load of pulse ammunition. Beside him—and kept there by the frequent non-too-gentle shove from Selphie, the Headmaster shouted; "GUARDIANS!!"

Three-quarters of the mixed force of SeeDs and students complied with the order—including both Irvine and Selphie—and quickly faded from the battlefield to be replaced by a herd of angry monsters. The GF's slaughtered a good portion of the remaining Galbadians as the soldiers attempted to fall back from the re-animated SeeDs far enough to allow the extended range of their firearms to give them some advantage over the mercenary force.

Irvine chuckled as he reappeared. "Greenhorns! Looks like all that great strat-e-gizing was a waste of time." 

Rather than nod, Selphie cast about worriedly. "Irvine, what'd you do with the headmaster?"

"Now wait a minute darlin', I thought you were gonna keep an eye on him while I was summoning." Irving scratched his head.

"No, you big oaf! I'm more compatible and—" Shoving the tall sharpshooter aside, Selphie caught a glimpse of Cid's back disappearing into the darkened interior of the hallway leading from the Quad to the Garden's interior. "—ooh! Never mind!" Pushing past Irvine, she dashed after Cid. "Headmaster! Wait!"

…

Like a turbulent river roaring between two iron cliffs, a tiny channel of the sea rushed through the gap over which the zipline hung. Tiny beside the enormous bulk of the Regulus, the Naso pitched in the heavy swell rolling out of the East. The heavy cable to which Squall clipped his harness seemed to stretch away into nothingness as it descended toward the destroyer. Though the two ships were as close as their captains dared bring them, the Naso's deck was so far below that of the carrier that the cluster of orange lifejackets of the seamen waiting to receive him seemed no larger than a cluster of brightly-colored insects. 

Squall was prevented from further observations by a shout. "Go!" 

Without a second thought, he leapt from the stable carrier deck into the empty space between ships. As the Naso pitched in the swell, slack was taken up in the cable, tossing Squall high in the air. The destroyer rolled toward the carrier as it fell into the trough of the wave, and Squall plummeted toward the angry water. Quick hands on the cable's winches saved the knight from a dip in the ocean, and a half-dozen sailors caught him as he whizzed into the crowd of receivers. Squall allowed himself to be dragged by his bulky lifejacket, away from the edge of the destroyer's decking while he was unhooked from the zipline. A grinning face replaced the whirling waves and sky of a moment before. "Exciting ride, huh?" The man slapped him on the back before turning to the receiving line once again. 

Squall was on his feet by the time Rinoa alighted, and moved quickly to ensure that he was the one to catch her, detach her harness, and lead her away from the perilous edge of the ships decking—much to the disappointment of the male crewmembers manning the zipline. Once the cable was detached and secured, the Naso pulled away from the Regulus. 

Squall offered a SeeD salute while Rinoa mirrored the Estharian's own gestures of respect as they quickly processed through the naval honoraries that their status as dignitaries required. A few moments later they were lead out of the wind and confusion of the open decking and into the relative calm and brightness of the ship's chartroom by the first officer. 

"President Laguna has requested that I bring you up to speed on the current situation regarding Esthar, Galbadia, and the Lunatic Pandora." The officer spoke while making his way between tables covered with local nautical charts. "You'll have to excuse the roughness of our strategic map, but we usually don't do this type of analysis in here." Arriving at last before a smaller table with a creased world map laid across it, he indicated the chart. "Okay, let me start with an overview of the situation." 

"Look, we're really not—" Squall began, but a squeeze from Rinoa's hand stopped him. _Well, okay, whatever._ Squall shrugged slightly as the first officer turned to him. "Never mind. Go ahead." He settled himself in for a long, dull lecture.

"Very well then." The man turned back to the map. "As of two hours ago—the time of our last spy plane over-flight—Galbadia had heightened troop activity here, here, and here." The man pointed to the Independent Republic of Timber—still denoted on the outdated world map as an occupied territory, the Deling District of Galbadia, and the Mare Lela Peninsula. "I'll start with the actions you already know about." The man tapped his finger on the Mare Lela Peninsula. "Several days ago, the Galbadians dispatched a full brigade of mechanized infantry to this location—the same force the Regulus carrier group and thirty-fifth marine division interdicted earlier today when they extracted President Loire and yourselves. We assume their intention was to capture both of you, and President Loire—though we don't have any confirmation that the Galbadians knew the president was with you."

Squall and Rinoa both nodded.

The officer continued. "Moving on; it appears that the capitol of Deling is now under the control of General Delphi Matchgar—head of the Galbadian secret police. The fighting within the city seems to be over—at least our photos don't show any new fires, so that's what we're assuming for the time being. I could go over what we know of the battle that took place in the capitol, but I imagine you saw some of the activity in Deling during the recent upheavals within the Galbadian government, and probably know more than we do." 

Squall nodded again, but Rinoa shook her head. "No. I didn't know anything about it. What's happened?" 

"Well, about two weeks ago—shortly after the Galbadian news services reported your disappearance from Deling city—widespread civil unrest broke out in the southern provinces of Galbadia." The officer waved his hand at the area he was talking of. "Shortly thereafter, a full-scale civil war swept across Galbadia, with most of the violence centered in or around Deling City."

"What?" Rinoa was shocked. "How can that be? What happened?!"

Squall swallowed. _Uh-oh._

"It's… it's… hard to take in." The wind and swell had abated, and the Naso now steamed through calm air sitting under a low, gray, overcast sky. Rinoa leaned against the retractable stern railing, which ran around the helicopter pad at the rear of the destroyer, both arms—along with one of Squall's—wrapped around herself. "Things are happening so fast now." She shook her head. "And I thought it was crazy after the assassination attempt." 

"Timber invaded. The Lunatic Pandora activated. Balamb Garden…" Squall hung his head. 

"And Galbadia…" It came out as a sigh. "I had such high hopes… even with—what we knew."

Slowly Squall turned to face his sorceress. "I'm sorry, Rinoa." From somewhere, he mustered the courage to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry for what I did…"

"Don't be, Squall. It wasn't anything you did. It wasn't anything we did." She shook her head gently. "Someone else has been controlling us from the start of this thing." One of her hands had drifted over Squall's, it tightened slightly. "God! I wish I knew who was behind all this! I wish I could see what they are planning!"

"It looks like they're planning on destroying Esthar. That man…" Squall's jaw tightened. "Matchgar… I met him, I knew he couldn't be trusted… I should have seen this coming." His brow lowered. "He's picking up where—" Squall suddenly choked on the name. _Easy, easy. Forget about it. Nothing's changed, she isn't any different than before. _"—Ultimecia—left off.The Lunatic…" Squall trailed off as Rinoa shook her head—more violently this time.

"No… no. That's not it. That's not what they're planning…" Her lips pressed together tightly. "And it's not Matchgar who's behind all this."

"Are you sure?" Squall blew out a short breath. "Of course you're sure. Silly question." 

"No, it wasn't." Rinoa unfolded one arm. "I… I couldn't feel them before, I couldn't tell anything before… but now I can." Her hand balled into a fist. "It's so close I can almost say it. I can almost see what they want—almost." She slammed her hand down on the railing. "But I can't! I just can't!"

"Hey…" Squall's tone was worried. He wasn't used to dealing with other people's problems. "It's not your fault." He slid his free hand over Rinoa's fist. "Don't beat yourself up over it." 

"Literally, huh?" She smiled faintly. "This coming from the guy who tried to kill himself." 

_Once upon a time, that would have been a joke. A long time ago, it would have been a silly phrase from a silly girl._ But Rinoa was no longer a silly girl—if she had ever been. That façade had disappeared long ago, the veneer of lightheartedness and gaiety driven away by the harsh realities inherent in witchhood. Squall's reaction was different that it would have been—once upon a time. "Touche." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. 

Twenty feet below them, the wake from the destroyer's turbine-driven propellers churned the flat gray ocean a frothy green. Rinoa stared at it is she leaned against the railing. "So what do we do now?" 

_I don't know. _"Shall we hold a five-minute planning session huddled in a corner?" It had been meant to come out as light-hearted. "Go back to Esthar? Run away from whoever is doing this?" He shook his head. "Do you think that's what they're trying to make us do?"

Rinoa bit her lower lip. "I don't know. I just don't know."

…

It was that time of morning when the mist had just begun rising from the forest floor. Early enough for it to be long before the sun would send it's light shafting down to illuminate the ethereal tendrils of vapor with a golden glow, but late enough that those who had not slept during the night now gave up any notion of rest. 

For the hundredth time, Zell paced off the distance between the camouflaged netting of the small communications tent and the clearing at the edge of the runway. The soft gray-greens of the disguised netting, the sharp, rough smell of early morning campfires took him back to those few weeks of wilderness survival training long ago. Just as quickly, the hard concrete strip bisecting the forest brought him back into the present. For the thousandth time, Zell rubbed the empty space encircling his wrist and stared off into the dim, misty morning forest—just as he had stared off into the pinks and oranges of the setting sun, and then into the deep brightness of the pinwheeling stars.

Turning, Zell caught himself up short as a figure stepped from the dimness of the trees. "General Caraway, Sir." The SeeD saluted.

"No need, Zell, no need." The older man waved off the gesture. General Richard Caraway looked at the Seed, he then turned to take in the path worn clear of vegetation by the SeeD's nocturnal activities. "You know, you've done more for me than I can ever repay, Mr. Dincht." The general shook his head. "If you are… apprehensive… well, there's no need for you to accompany me on this mission."

"No, Sir. That's not what I'm concerned about." Zell's tone made it clear that what he _was_ concerned about was none of the general's business. "I am going."

"I understand." With nothing more to say, the general turned back toward the tree-covered encampment where his troops—nearly three thousand strong in this division alone—were preparing for the coming assault. He paused on the edge of slowly brightening darkness. "Zell…"

The SeeD looked up. 

At last, the general had time to say the words he had never expected to voice toward a SeeD. "Thank you." His mouth turned down at the corners slightly as strained pride pushed his jaw forward. "Thank you for saving my life." Then, the general disappeared into the dimness. 

Zell had already returned to rubbing his wrist absently. "No problem." He muttered without giving the words any thought at all.

…

From the thick soupy whiteness emanated the choppy sound of spinning rotor blades. Standing on the open weather deck that jutted out a few feet from the Naso's bridge, Squall peered into the heavy fog blanketing the cold ocean. Stepping around the docking control console, he leaned over the metal piping that acted as a railing and stared down at the calm water several stories below. Even the dark surface of the ocean below him was partially obscured by the dense mist. Aft of his position, the ship's hull and superstructure quickly disappeared into the stiflingly close vapors. The stern was completely hidden from view. Squall turned as he heard the hatch leading to the deck open. 

Rinoa smiled gently at her knight as she stepped out into the damp marine air. After walking over to join him at the railing, she motioned into the fuzzy blankness. "The captain thinks there are at least three of them out there."

From across the silent water, the beating of the helicopter's blades changed pitch as the aircraft was put into hover mode, preparing to lower it's dipping sonar transceiver.

"Tailing us?" Squall frowned.

"He doesn't know." Rinoa grimaced slightly. "They may just be trying to get in close before firing."

Sonar Operator William Duncan chewed nervously on a fingernail already gnawed down to the quick as he squinted at the cascading waterfall of colored digits washing across the display before him. He blinked once—it was a hard, measured gesture having nothing to do with the moistening of his eyes. He ceased biting at the nail as his hand balled into a fist, the side of his right index finger squeaking quietly against his teeth as he bared them. _It can't be!_ But it was. "Sir, I have a definite fourth contact bearing twenty degrees off our stern."

The officer of the watch in the CCIC automatically snapped. "Range?"

"Not sure yet sir, no estimates on depth, speed or heading either." William wiped a hand across his cold brow. _Just like all the others._

"Mr. Duncan, any chance of getting a firing solution any of the first three contacts?" 

The operator shook his head. "Not without going to active sonar, Sir. They're keeping right at the edge of our range."

An intra-ship telephone jangled for attention, interrupting the captain of the Naso from his re-checking of the first navigator's calculations. Stepping over to the device, he lifted the headset from its cradle. "This is the captain." He knew the call would be for him. After a few seconds of listening to the voice on the other end of the line he shook his head. "No, do not clear baffles." 

The navigator who had been going over the charts with the captain stared hard at the maps plotting instruments laid out before him as he pretended not to listen to the conversation.

"I'm well aware of that. Maintain current course and speed." There was another short pause, then the captain turned away from the navigation officer and lowered his voice. "The Galbadians must have caught on to our little secret and they're not taking any chances. Number one, the only thing that is keeping them from attacking right now is their belief that we aren't aware of their presence. I'll be on the bridge in five, don't do anything to tip them off before I get there, understood?" With that, the captain hung up the phone and turned to the navigator. "Mr. Meisel." 

"Sir?" The man looked up from the nautical chart he had been scrutinizing.

"I know you do good work, Mr. Meisel. I know you are confident in your calculations," The captain addressed the navigator without moving from his position beside the intra-ship phone. "but I have to be absolutely certain about these numbers. I wouldn't be down here double-checking your work myself if this wasn't absolutely crucial to…" The captain trailed off, then shook his head. "I want you to re-plot a solution from scratch. Go over it twice, then plot one more. Make sure your numbers agree precisely."

The sailor resisted the urge to spread his hands. He had already done all that, twice. "Yes sir." 

"Very good. Get to it." With the words, the captain turned back to the phone and placed the receiver to his ear. "This is the captain. Connect me to the hangar." A few seconds later: "Chief, how close are you to finishing those modifications?"

…

The sharpshooter was panting hard. "How in the blue blazes can an old man run so damn fast!?" 

"Irvine!" Dashing down the hallway beside him, Selphie was about to admonish the SeeD's disrespectful reference to the headmaster of Balamb Garden, but was stopped short by the scene before the pair. Emerging into the central walkways of the garden, Selphie and Irvine watched in horror as Cid Kramer bellowed a battle cry and hurled himself into a group of Galbadians—all twice his size, and half his age. 

Stunned motionless, Irvine's mouth continued to move. "What—!" 

Selphie was not listening. Instead, as a half-dozen swords, rifle butts, and other impromptu bludgeons descended on the headmaster's unprotected head, she suddenly doubled up, her face eyes screwed up with concentration. A split second later, she straightened, pulling the striking bars of her weapon apart in a manner that formed an enlarged letter 'Z'. 

"—the hell—" 

The air around the headmaster rippled and sparked as the weapons falling upon him were diverted from dealing solid blows by the invisible Wall which had suddenly appeared around the old man. 

"—is he doing?!" Irvine finished shouting, raised the Exeter to his shoulder, and swept away the gaggle of Galbadians with a double-load of shotgun ammo, the scattershot passing harmlessly around the protected headmaster. "Trying to kill himself?"

Rather than reply, Selphie grabbed the tall sharpshooter by his sleeve and began towing him toward the headmaster. "Come on!" 

Cid, seeming not to notice the assistance lent him by the two SeeDs, pulled spear tip of the Bec de Corbyn from the unfortunate soldier who had happened to step into his path, and—without pause—dashed deeper into the garden's hostile interior.

"That was quick thinking thar, Darlin'. You're limits're the best." Despite the seriousness of the situation, Irvine refused to give up his affected drawl. "You know, I shore do love yer slot."

Sprinting madly down the walkway, Selphie vowed to get Irvine back for that one—as soon as she had a chance to catch her breath.

…

He knew he was nearing the breaking point. He knew that he wasn't in the best condition to fight. Oh, certainly he was—if not well rested—at least pumped up on adrenaline enough to be alert and quick-witted, he was in good physical form—loose and limber without being too relaxed, but mentally, he was unprepared. _Well, not so much unprepared, as preoccupied._ "Hah!" Zell drove his left fist forward into an imaginary enemy's midsection. His knees bent as he powered in with his right arm, delivering a jaw-shattering uppercut. Without pause, he dropped sideways onto his left hand, kicking his right leg out and pivoting on his arm and left foot, sweeping the fictitious sparring partner off his nonexistent feet. "Huah!" 

Although he often preferred action to thinking or talking about things, so serious was Zell about his combat skills, that he always, always made sure he was fully prepared for every battle—in all respects. _Only this time, I'm not._ With a grunt, Zell shifted his weight onto both arms, while hammering his feet into the ground—thus backflipping from the cracked tarmac into a fighting crouch in the blink of an eye. 

Despite the perfect execution of the move, despite his good form over the past fifteen minutes of warm-up sparring, something still nagged at the stocky martial artist. As he let his fists drop to his sides, the small crowd of soldiers that had gathered to watch the legendary warrior warm-up applauded appreciatively. During his practice, Zell had been oblivious to the group he had attracted. Shocked by the applause, he took a single step backward. "--The hell?" 

Before the spiky-haired blond Seed could say anything else, the CO of the squad that had broken from their duties to watch, dashed up and began screaming at her charges to get back to work.

Turning away from the quickly-dispersing crowd, Zell shook his head. "Damn!" _What am I doing?! How could I miss all those people gathering? What is wrong with me?!_ But Zell knew what was wrong. 

_"Balamb Garden has been destroyed."_

_"Only two transports escaped."_

_"That… that's less than forty people…"_

_"We all assumed most of the students and SeeDs escaped." _

_"And the garden was most definitely **not** destroyed."_

Not knowing, and not really caring that he had left his equipment lying in the middle of staging area three-bravo, Zell wandered distractedly into the early-morning shadow of one of the massive heavy-lift transports, recently uncovered in preparation for the coming attack. Forgetting to stretch out, he dropped heavily into the seat of a small tow vehicle parked beneath the aircraft's wing. Elbow resting on the dashboard, Zell propped his chin on his palm, his other hand absently sliding across his bare wrist. _Isis… are you…_

He had been sorely tempted to return to Balamb after he stormed out of the underground bunker in Timber, Zell still wasn't quite sure why he had not. "I just couldn't leave Squall and Rinoa to fend for themselves. Somebody had to look after those guys." He muttered to himself.

_The way Quistis and that crazy old hag had been talking… _the Ergheiz combat gloves Zell had neglected to remove creaked as his hands tightened into fists. _…she's going to force those guys into doing something terrible to Squall and Rinoa. I just know it! _He gritted his teeth silently. _It always starts out simple—oh, we're just going to watch them, and make sure they're safe—and then the next thing you know, everyone's shooting at everyone else and nobody wants to talk and…_ "Fuck!" Zell jumped to his feet. "This sucks!" He pounded his fist into his palm agitatedly. "Dammit! I'm tired of all the bullshit!" Zell looked around for someone to hit, but was forced to settle for kicking angrily at the tires of the tow vehicle. 

Of course, it hadn't gotten any better after he decided to go back into Galbadia. He had lost track of the number of people he had knocked out, tied up, and… well… knocked out some more—since he had no disguise—to keep from alerting the authorities to his presence. With each step he took toward Squall and Rinoa, he seemed to travel another thousand miles from the garden. Even now, though he was still striving to make contact with his friends and eventually return to… _wherever the B-Garden SeeDs are now._ …he didn't seem to be getting any closer to either goal. _There's always too many complications!_

The one aid he had received had come from the outbreak of civil war within Galbadia. With the chaos the fighting brought, it became much easier for him to elude the Galbadian police as he made his way to Deling. Slightly mollified, Zell took one last half-hearted kick at the scuffed tire. _I guess therewere a few other coincidences that helped me out…_ Realizing—with more than a little disappointment—that storming the presidential mansion might give Squall and Rinoa the wrong impression—especially in the middle of a war—Zell had decided to try a little bit of intrigue instead; breaking into—what had looked at the time to be a minor Galbadian government building—and stealing some sort of security clearance and a vehicle had been the general fuzzy sort of plan that Zell had cooked up. But the building had held a lot more than just a few bureaucratic offices. The SeeD smiled at the memory.

After unceremoniously blowing in the door of the building with a shot of Thunderaga, Zell had been surprised at number of black-suited, armed Galbadians that had poured into the foyer from some unknown location within the building. Of course, he had defeated them all without even breaking a sweat. After such a long period of skulking about the countryside trying to avoid detection, Zell had welcomed the chance for a real stand-up fight. Letting himself become lost in the memory, Zell leaned against the side of the tow vehicle.

…

"This is getting ridiculous!" The blond martial artist grunted as he dragged the unconscious form of yet another dark-suited Galbadian clear of the doorway from which they kept emerging. Dumping the body unceremoniously onto the growing heap of still forms, Zell straightened. "I'm running out of room, how many of you guys are in there?" Not surprisingly, the unconscious man made no reply.

The room was—except for the increasing number of bodies—fairly barren. A few desks were scattered about in a semi-organized fashion, standing on a tile floor that glinted dully in the light of the overhead fluorescent bulbs. A shaft of sunlight peeked into the room from the door the SeeD had blasted open upon his entry into the building, directly across from it, the room's only other door's hydraulic hinges were just swinging it closed after the last batch of well-dressed but poorly-prepared men had burst through. The latch was not given time to engage as the door was suddenly flung open once more by another pair of suits. 

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Zell shouted as he dove at them. 

Just like the dozen suits before them, the two men reached for firearms concealed under their jackets. And, just like the dozen agents before them, both were knocked senseless before they could draw their weapons.

The SeeD looked down at the two new bodies. "This isn't any fun." He cast about for a place to store his latest victims. His brow creased. _Not only is this no fun, but it's taking too long! Sooner or later some backup is going to arrive. With these losers pouring in both entrances, I'm really going to run out of space fast._

Zell was still looking for an open space when the door was again thrust forward—into the prostrate body blocking its swing. Seconds later, the room resounded with a solid thud as people trying to gain entry threw themselves at the door, forcing it forward a few inches.

"Forget this!" Zell growled. Dropping back into a crouch, he raised one arm toward the vibrating door and blasted it into oblivion with an explosion of Holy magic.

The quivering dread in Lee Kasich's voice quieted his exclamation to the level of a whisper as the dead telephone receiver fell from his nerveless fingers. "Oh no!" As the building's lights dimmed, he felt the terror that had been stirring in his gut jump into his throat. He was just about to dive beneath the security checkpoint's desk when the blast hit. The door leading up to the surface level was torn from its hinges as a wall of white heat rippled across the room. Thrown backwards by the force of the magical discharge, Lee tried to cover his face with his hands, but he was unable to block out the blinding light of balls of non-elemental magic careening through the room. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. He was sure he was going to die.

Contrary to his belief, Agent Kasich did not die, although—upon opening his eyes—he immediately wished otherwise as his eyes locked with those of an angry armed mercenary. "Ahhh!! P-p-please d-don't kill me!!" was what the agent meant to say, however it came out as simply: "EEEEEEK!!" 

"Shut up!" Zell shouted. _What is wrong with these people!?_ "What is this place?"

The man lying on the floor was shaking violently. "P-p-please d-don't kill me!!" 

"Who are you people?" _And why do you all suck so bad?_ Zell stomped a foot for emphasis. "Tell me, and maybe I'll let you live."

Somehow, the man on the floor turned an even paler shade of white. "W-w-we're the, the G-G-Galbadian secret police. T-t-this is p-post f-f-four-b—AAH!" The man cried out and flinched away as Zell's fist turned a floor tile to dust an inch from his head. 

The blond man bent forward and growled at the Galbadian. "I don't care what this place is called!" Zell was beginning to enjoy himself. "What makes you think I want **useless **information like that?!" _Hmm… this is kind of fun…_ Zell put on his most menacing expression. "I guess you don't have any more information for me…" _Heh, heh, no wonder Seifer…_ Suddenly, the SeeD's scowl became genuine. _No! This is just the sort of thing that son-of-a-bitch would do. _Zell straightened. The man on the floor was saying something, but Zell wasn't paying attention. _Well I'm not like him!_ He took a step back, away from agent Kasich. 

"W-wait!" The man shouted in a panicky voice. "D-don't blast me! Didn't you hear what I said?! They're holding General Richard Caraway downstairs! They're going to execute him in a few minutes!" The man was hysterical. "T-that's good information, right?! You're going to let me live, right?!"

Zell frowned as he took a second step backwards. _Caraway… that's Rinoa's father! _For a split second, an image appeared in Zell's mind of the same frightening sorceress Rinoa that had visited their cell on the night of the assassination attempt commanding the death of her hated father. The corner of his mouth quirked up just a hair. "No way." Zell shook his head. _That's ridiculous. Even I can tell thatRinoa doesn't hate her father that much._

"You're not?! Oh god!" Lee moaned. 

Zell's attention was drawn back to the agent by the exclamation. Realizing that the man had mistaken Zell's musings for his death sentence, the mercenary was about to reassure him when he realized that agent Lee Kasich had fainted dead away. The SeeD frowned before turning toward the hallway leading deeper into the complex. "Hmph. Now who's the chicken-wuss?" He shrugged and trotted off.

…

Those grey-green eyes sparkled with just the slightest bit of mischevious skepticism. "Uh-huh, sure, Zell. I bet that's just exactly the way it happened."

Zell nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! That's how I rescued General Caraway."

One pigtail dropped onto a shoulder as she tilted her head to the side to match her single raised eyebrow. "Twenty-seven Secret Police Special Agents?" Isis's smile devastated the excitable martial artist. "Riiiigt."

"That's how it happened! I swear!"

"You're not embellishing just a little bit?"

"No! …Well… maybe a little tiny bit…" Zell looked down as his feet gave just the slightest bit of a guilty shuffle. "But… but… don't you think it was still pretty, ur… well, at least a little bit… um…" Suddenly, the spiky-haired SeeD found his proximity to Isis stifling, he could feel the hot blush as it fought its way up his neck.

That wondrous smile left Zell hanging for just a moment before she spoke. "Daring, dashing, courageous, heroic?" 

"Um…yeah?" Zell's smile was hopeful. _Oh no! Am I bragging too much… I didn't mean to… I just want you to… _

"Of course it was, silly!" Isis took advantage of their closeness to dart in and beep Zell's nose with her own. 

Electricity tingled over Zell's skin at the touch.

Isis's eyes closed just the tiniest bit. Her voice dropped to an almost-whisper. "Tell ya a secret…" She winked conspiratorially.

"…Yeah?" Zell was trying very very hard not to faint like the sort-of-mythical Galbadian he had 'interrogated.'

Suddenly, the spark of mirth disappeared from the eyes. "I wish I could have been there to see it, Zell." Their gaze dropped from Zell's for a moment, then rose again. Now they held just the slightest hint of sadness. "I… I wish I had lived long enough to have this conversation with you, Zell."

"WHA--OOF!!?" The daydream shattered with such force that the SeeD slipped from his propped-up position to land on the hard pavement with jarring and painful surprise. Zell slowly levered himself to his feet, trying not to think about the words of the conversation his mind had conjured up. "Dammit! I'm going crazy! That's not going to happen! I won't have it!" Above him, the high-pitched whine of the transport's APU's spinning up helped to take his mind off the disturbing thought. 

Zell looked around. All of the camouflage netting had been removed from the eight high-lift military transport aircraft that Caraway's forces had sequestered at this out-of-the-way abandoned airstrip. The airport had been inactive for so long that the forest had encroached on the area around the single paved runway. Now, saplings had grown right up to the edge of the tarmac. A swath of this young forest now tossed wildly in the shimmering exhaust blasting from the engines of a transport as its engines warmed up in preparation for taxiing. 

Still shaking the remnants of unsettling thoughts from his head, Zell noted, thankfully, that his assigned aircraft was still loading. "Come on, Zell, focus." He thumped his palm gently against his forehead for emphasis as he jogged toward his gear—still lying in a pile in the middle of the staging area. _What would the guys say?_

They wouldn't believe it, of course. Not Zell, no. He doesn't get distracted like that. He's an intense fighter—he doesn't waste time talking…or thinking. That's what they would say. 

In the noisy cargo hold of the airborne transport, Zell shrugged to himself. _Yeah, that's pretty much how everybody sees me. That's pretty much who I'd like to be._ He certainly tried his best to act that way. _That's for sure._

In front of the others it was easy. It was simple for Zell to remember who he was supposed to be. He could stay calm, or get excited, but—either way—he was never at a loss; he never drifted off on his own thoughts, he was always ready for whatever came next, even in front of Isis. That morning in the Balamb hotel was as fresh in his memory—here, sitting seventh from the starboard rear seat, aboard the Galbadian flying transport, less than three hours out from what might well prove to be the most difficult mission of his life—as it had been seconds after his encounter with the pig-tailed student. 

Her presence flustered him. He _had_ wanted to see her, it was true, but when she just appeared out of nowhere, walking in from one of the airy terraces of the sea-colored Balamb Hotel, Zell had experienced a welling of anxiety unlike anything he had ever felt before. Fortunately, Squall and company had arrived on the scene before… _Before what? What is it about her that bothers me so much?_ and Zell had quickly slipped back into the persona with which he felt most comfortable. The change had not gone unnoticed, however. Zell would never forget the look in Isis's eyes as she had handed him the Combat King magazine. He could no longer recall the words she had spoken before departing, but he could not blot from his mind her last half-questioning, half-disappointed glance. 

That expression had been notably absent during his second encounter with Isis. Stumbling all over himself—and nearly losing her favor over a _hotdog_ _Well, dammit! I really like hotdogs too! _Isis had seemed pleased, somehow, that the "Man of Steel"—or so the magazine clipping, Zell had taken from a Fighting Monthly edition, called him—wasn't quite as gung-ho crazy as everyone made him out to be. As she had told him when he had decided to forge ahead and ask her about it; "I prefer the real truth. You know, honesty."

Zell sighed to himself. _But I'm not really sure if I want to be that honest._ "Rrrgh!" He leaned forward on the webbed bench serving as seating for himself and several dozen other commandos and jabbed the air with a fist.

"Wow, you look ready for this." A Galbadian seated beside Zell observed. 

The SeeD's nose wrinkled as he forced an aggressive smile. "Yeah! Bring it on!" 

…

"Sir, confirm that. I've got a double, six-bladed, submerged contact at those bearings. Probability is high that it is the Deathclaw." The Galbadian sonar operator tapped a command into his console, and a flashing box appeared on his display, tagging the submarine as friendly. 

"That's it. Six fast-attack boats. If that destroyer doesn't know we're here by now, they're about to find out." The captain of the M-class attack U-boat, Tokapeb, stepped over to conn as he spoke. "Bring us up to firing depth. Load and flood tubes one through six." 

His orders brought a chorus of"Aye, Captain's" from the bridge crew. 

A moment later, the WO spoke up. "Tubes flooded, fish charged and ready, Sir. Firing solution plotted on the surface contact." 

"We have reached firing depth. Leveling out at twenty meters." The pilot pushed his control yoke gently forward to center the bubble. 

The captain pressed his lips together before speaking. "Tubes one through six, open outer doors, fire when ready." 

At the nose of the Tokapeb, six recessed rubber-coated hatches slid open almost noiselessly. No sooner had the doors opened, than jets of pressurized impulse air blasted six oblong shapes from their resting places. All six of the torpedoes' electric motors engaged simultaneously, and the water resounded with the high-pitched whine of their screws tearing through the sea. 

An organized form of pandemonium broke out on the bridge of the Tokapeb. Reports were shouted too quickly for their originator to be identified, but each bit of information was absolutely critical to the survival of the unmasked submarine, and its captain was well aware of this fact. 

"Torpedoes away! All fish normal!"

"Contacts zero-one, zero-two, zero-three, zero-four have all fired torpedoes! Contact zero-five has launched a missile!"

"Reload all tubes!" The captain had to shout to ensure he was heard. "Increase speed to two-thirds, maintain heading and depth." 

"Hostile zero-one has gone to active sonar! High probability that we have been detected!" The sonar operator's voice rang clearly above the reports from other stations as his earphones picked up the unmistakable sound of the destroyer's active sonar pulses hammering through the water. Suddenly, his voice rose an octave. "Splashes…** Torpedo in the water!** Directly astern, range: two-five-zero meters!"

The captain—as well as the rest of the bridge crew paled at the shout. "Increase speed to emergency flank! Hard right rudder! Deploy countermeasures!" 

"We're cavitating, captain!"

As the Tokapeb's twin screws thrashed through the water, the sleek submarine tilted to the left as it drove through the evasive maneuver. Two-hundred meters behind it, the torpedo's active sonar acquired the submarine for an instant—only to lose it and lock, instead, onto the noisemakers deployed into the massive knuckle of turbulent water left by the submarine's maneuver.

"Torpedo is falling astern, Sir, contact—SHIT!" The sonar operator reflexively knocked the headphones away from his ears as a deafening noise blasted from them. The circular cascade display of underwater noise in front of him shorted out as the sonar receivers overloaded. A shocked silence fell across the bridge as an ethereal melody resounded through the submarine's hull from the water surrounding it.

_What the hell is that?_ The captain couldn't help but look up to the barren metal piping running across the inner hull of the sub as it resounded with the unearthly song. 

…

A stunned command deck crew stared at the spot where Siren had just vanished even as the boom of the surface-to-surface missile exploding after being hit by the ship's PATRON point-defense system rolled across the still-misty water. The general quarters klaxons ended their alarm as the knight returned to this dimension.

The Naso's captain was the first to speak after Squall reappeared. "Sonar, report!" 

"Passive is fried, sir. Active shows all torpedoes running dumb in our wake. That… thing out there really did a number on them."

"The submarines?" 

"Still six of 'em, sir. All maneuvering, most have gone down below the thermal layer. I think they're trying to sort out what just happened to them."

The captain nodded. "Let's not give them a chance to figure it out. Tactical, fire the F-calon missiles." Without waiting for a response, he turned toward the sorceress and knight. Keeping his voice low, he spoke. "That was very impressive, but I'm afraid it won't be enough. We need to get you two off of the ship before those subs move back into firing position."

Rinoa bit her lip. "But what about…" A gloved hand on her arm silenced her protest.

Squall nodded to the captain. "Understood."

"I've had my chief mechanic modify our second helicopter to carry extra fuel, and I've been trying to bring the ship as close to the southern tip of Galbadia as possible ever since we picked up the first sub." The Naso's captain frowned. "It's going to be very close, but you may be able to ditch pretty close to land…" He turned away from the couple for a moment to order another maneuver as three Fastitocalon ASW rockets roared clear of their launching tubes. 

"Squall, we can't just…" Rinoa began, but quieted as the captain turned back to them. 

"We would try to fly you back to the Regulus carrier group, but we lost contact with them three hours ago. They were also under heavy attack." He frowned. "I'm sorry, I wish I could do more." 

"Captain Payette, thank you." Squall locked gazes with the older man.

The captain of the Naso looked down for a moment, rubbing his forehead with his right hand. "Knight Leonhart, Sorceress Heartilly," he drew breath. "protect Eshtar, protect our families." The man's eyes wandered—for an instant—out over the ocean, looking east. "Because, I fear, after today, we will no longer be able to."

There was no point in wishing the captain luck, so Squall simply saluted. Rinoa looked very unhappy with the situation, but she did allow herself to be towed off the bridge by her knight—after wishing the captain and crew luck.

…

"Sir, the passive is gone. They say we'll have to dry-dock to fix it." The sonar operator sat, staring nervously at the darkened screen. He knew, that without the sonar, a torpedo or other unpleasant object could be closing in on their tiny metal air bubble at this very second—despite the quiet, deep running and constant evasive maneuvering. 

"Alright, go to active. Increase speed to full. Bring us back up." The captain rubbed his knuckles in an unconscious nervous gesture. This was not how you fought submarine warfare, but he had no choice. 

"Sir, we're rising." The pilot called out.

"Good, take us to periscope depth." The captain turned away.

"No, sir, I mean, we're rising, even though we're at five degrees down bubble. Speed is dropping too." The pilot tapped at his control console, but everyone could tell the sub really was oriented downward by the slant of the decking.

"Have we been hit? Damage report!" The captain hadn't felt any impacts.

"No damage, sir." 

"Captain, rise rate increasing! Speed dropping! Controls are not responding!" The pilot was sweating profusely now as he pushed the control yoke as far forward as it would go, but still the submarine did not change its course. "Depth at five-zero meters!"

"Flood all tanks. Increase to flank speed. Dive! Forty-five-degree down bubble!" The captain shouted.

"No response sir! We're going to broach! Depth at one-zero meters!"

"Up scope! Find out what the hell is going on out there!"

Even before the captain finished the order, the periscope operator was sliding the device upward on its hydraulic lifts. Pressing his face to the eyepiece, he peered through the lenses. What he saw made him gasp with shock.

…

"Watch your step, miss." The copilot stretched out a hand to help Rinoa aboard the helicopter, but failed to grasp her arm before she pulled it away. 

"Squall. We can't do this—we can't just let these people die for us." Rinoa had to shout over the roar as another volley of anti-sub missiles blasted from their launchers. 

"Miss, please! We need to get airborne!" The helmeted man stepped forward.

Squall's grip on the sorceress's shoulders was gentle but firm—not that it would have made any difference, if she truly wanted to escape. "Rinoa, we have to go. There's nothing we can do for them." 

Dark brown hair shook before the knight's eyes. "No, Squall. I… I'm responsible for this, I'm responsible for them." She turned to face him. "I think I might… I have to try to do something!" Her eyes were pleading.

Squall closed his eyes. "Rinoa, you are not responsible for this…" He opened them again, saw that his words had not changed—could not change her mind, and sighed. "As you wish." He released his hold on her and held a hand up to the advancing airman. "Give us one minute."

"Sir, we **really** don't have…" The co-pilot began.

Squall held up a finger, silencing him. "One minute."

The man slumped back into the open hatch of the helicopter resignedly. "Ah well, we've all gotta die someday…" he muttered to himself.

The knight turned from the airman and toward his sorceress. Rinoa had walked to the rear of the destroyer, she now stood, staring out across the deceptively calm surface of the misty water. The Naso's other helicopter—about a kilometer away—could be seen bouncing in the air slightly as it released another torpedo. However, he sorceress was not looking at the helicopter. She had closed her eyes.

Breathing deeply of the cool briny air—damp with the spray from the Naso's thrashing screws—Rinoa let her thoughts slip quietly beneath the turbulent wake of the destroyer. Down through the bubbles of the cavitating propellers, down past the stilted rays of cloudy light penetrating that dark green environ, fell the sorceress's touch. Standing on the landing pad of the T-class destroyer, Rinoa shivered as she felt herself the temperature changes of the thermal layers hundreds of feet beneath the ship. With closed eyes, she saw the sleek dark shapes of the submarines as they wended their way through the steps of a spectrally silent dance in the crushing cold depths. Rinoa felt the surge of energy from electrical cells powering their quiet motors, she touched the destructive potential stored in the explosive chemicals of torpedo and missile warheads, but she did not understand the ways of these things, and so her invisible eyes turned to the minds of the living breathing people inside the machines of steel and rubber. But from this too, she shrank, remembering the horrible sensation of twisting the will of another. Still, she sensed their fear, felt their anxiety, was brushed by their excitement as hundreds of souls moved their machines into position to snuff the lives of others. With increasing distress, her touch traveled across the cold valves, levers, conduits, seeking something—anything to stop the coming violence. 

Suddenly, Rinoa's consciousness was rocked by an explosion of light, noise, and pain as a ship-launched torpedo found its mark. She felt the instants of terror a hundred souls experience as the water rushes in to quench their lives. Yet still she could find no way to stop the remaining U-boats. In her frustration, the sorceress's mind reached out to the unyielding hull of one of the submarines and—to her surprise—it reacted to her touch. She pulled harder, and the submarine followed her command, and suddenly, an idea occurred to her.

The deck crew's shadows were painted on the walls of the ship's superstructure in sharp relief, by the strobing blue-white light of the sorcery crackling around Rinoa, as theystood and stared with open mouths. Squall resisted the urge to shield his eyes from the blazing witchcraft, which poured from the figure before him and tunneled into the frothing water around the rear of the ship. His attention fixed on his sorceress, he was taken by surprise by the collective exclamation of wonder by the mechanics who were still—more or less—at their posts. 

Tearing his eyes away from Rinoa, Squall, too, felt the urge to gasp at the sight of a surfacing Galbadian submarine. The oblong cylindrical ship breached the surface of the water stern first, it's propellers churning away at the unresisting air. A long length of hull followed the rudder and screws out of the water, and then—impossibly—the conning tower, forward dive planes, and the prow of the submarine all left the ocean. The dark ship hung suspended—as if it were some monstrous fish, dragged from the deep by it's tail—seawater cascading in great white gouts from it's slick decking and hull. Blue-white lightning bolts danced across the U-boat's surface and arced between it and the ocean. Difficult to make out though the waves of witchcraft, something that looked like a hatch popped open on the surface of the submarine.

…

"All hands abandon ship!" The captain cried, pulling away from the periscope. It was incredible, it couldn't be real, but somehow it was. Somehow, his seven thousand ton submarine was being suspended nearly fifteen feet above the ocean's surface. It had to be the sorceress, there was no other explanation. If she had the power to pull his ship completely clear of the ocean, there was no doubt in his mind what would come next—he just hoped that most of his crew would escape before it happened.

…

Rinoa's arms were shaking with the effort of her concentration. She could feel the great flood of power—once so frighteningly and immeasurably vast within her—starting to ebb. Sweat trickled across her brows—drawn together with effort. They _were_ leaving, she could feel them go as the submariners left their stranded ship. But it was only one ship, even as the thought crossed her mind, the sorceress's power reached out, seeking a second, and then a third submarine. Her strength was nearly gone now, but still there were more submarines! She had to remove them all, she had to find a substitute for her waning energy! A tiny bit of Rinoa's consciousness searched for the power within herself to carry on. Even as a second submarine's stern was lifted from the water, she was sapping her own life force to draw strength for her witchcraft. 

As the aura of sorcery surrounding Rinoa grew brighter and brighter, Squall's anxiety likewise increased, for his sorceress—standing in the middle of that halo of energy, seemed to be growing dimmer and dimmer. Suddenly, the magic light flared blindingly, burning holes through his very retinas, before dimming away to nothing. Absolute nothing, for Rinoa was gone. 

Squall screamed as the ghostly premonition broke. "NO!!" He lunged forward through the brilliance and wrapped his arms around his sorceress, drawing her away from the edge of the ship, away from the water. Like a light bulb switching off, the crackling sorcery disappeared at the knight's touch. Three-quarters of a mile away, the Tokapeb dropped from the sky like a stone, sending a huge wave washing over her crew as they swam frantically away from their bewitched vessel. The Galbadian submarine Navarro—nearly halfway clear of the water—also dropped back into the ocean with a resounding crash. Squall saw none of this.

The knight's concentration lay solely on his sorceress as he cast Curaga spell after useless Curaga spell on her still form. Automatically his fingers pressed under her chin, finding a weak, but steady pulse even while his other hand hovered over her white lips. Squall was only mildly reassured by the brush of air—not warm, like it should be, but deathly cold—from her exhalations. A shiver of dread rippled through his chest as he saw how transparent Rinoa's skin was—if he looked hard enough he felt he could have seen her delicate bones beneath the sallow flesh. Squall was only vaguely aware of the rotor blades beginning to turn above his head as the helicopter pilot prepared for takeoff. Carefully cradling Rinoa's head against his chest, he slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back as he lifted the still form of the sorceress. 

Both airmen—pilot and copilot—were silent as Squall climbed aboard the helicopter, carefully assisting him as he laid Rinoa onto an airborne stretcher, covering her with a thermal blanket. Stunned by what they had just witnessed, neither said a word as they climbed into the cockpit and ran through their preflight checklist. 

At last, looking up from his clipboard, the co-pilot shot a glance at the pilot. "Did you see…?" He needn't have asked, but he felt something needed to be said.

The pilot drew the corners of his mouth tight and nodded mutely. After a moment, he pulled gently back on the flight stick, easing the now-hovering hellicpoter clear of the Naso's stern. At length, he spoke into the microphone. "I know. Whatever she was doing, it didn't work… but god **damn**!"

The copilot muttered just quietly enough that his mic failed to pick up his words. "Just what the hell _is_ she?" 

Squall dared to turn away from his sorceress for only a second as he retrieved an elixir from a satchel he had previously loaded aboard the aircraft. When he turned back, her eyes were open, but they stared without the usual sparkle. "It won't do any good." The brown all but washed from their irises, they looked up at him. "It only works for para-magic."

"Rinoa! Thank god!" She listlessly accepted Squall's awkward embrace as she lay, staring up at the vibrating ceiling of the aircraft. "Thank god you're okay."

Squall felt a cool tear on his cheek—where it met with his sorceress's. "I couldn't lift them all, Squall, but you should have let me try."

The pressure of his skin against hers changed as his head shook by an iota. "It would have killed you." He did not release her from his delicate embrace. 

Rinoa's eyes finally closed and she whispered. "But it might have saved one or two more lives."

_But I don't care about them!_ Squall's lips barely moved with the words. "I would rather destroy this whole world, than let you die, Rinoa." 

Rinoa's eyes stared sightlessly out the window above as she gazed at the spinning rotors. "I know that, Squall, and it frightens me so."

## To Be Continued…

(For the latest Purgatio updates, fanart, and music, visit [http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/main1.htm][1] )

   [1]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/main1.htm



	10. Socius

**Chapter 10:**

** **

**Socius**

The moon's twin was reflected for an instant in the one yellow eye. Then, the head turned, and darkness swallowed the glowing orb. Under the sultry midnight haze that hung over the alleyway dark things scuttled in the shadows. The amber oval appeared again, and then narrowed. Suddenly, the stray cat sprang from its perch atop the rotten wood of a pile of sagging crates, landing with a dull thump on one of the scurrying rodents. Yellowed fangs glinted in the glow of a few distant streetlamps at the alley's mouth as the scruffy carnivore bit down on the back of its prey's neck. 

To the feline's surprise, its victim did not squeak in terror and die—as the cat was used to. Instead, the rodent wrenched its body around—digging its sharp hind claws into the stray's underbelly while snarls of pain and rage escaped from between it's jagged and broken teeth. However, the stray had not survived this long without learning persistence, and—despite the injuries being dealt it, the cat bit down harder into the bloody fur, extending its claws and raking them down the rodent's sides.

The looming moon gazed down on the match impassively as still, the feline failed to deal a killing blow, and the rat redoubled its efforts to break free. A moment later, the life-or-death struggle was suspended indefinitely as an ancient flatbed truck rumbled into the alley. The two fighters had separated at the first hint of intrusion, and the tiny spatter of blood ground into the filthy broken bricks by the rotting tires was the only evidence that the death match had ever taken place. With the bare-metal squealing of worn-out brakes, the rust-covered lorry ground to a halt. 

_Damn her._ The stolen eyes glared down at the scored metal. Two last dying light bulbs lit the four nonfunctional gauges set into the dashboard. Needles motionless under cracked glass, turned smoky with the passing of time, the round eyes of the gauges stared back up at the man. _Damn her. How did she find out?_ But, Norg reflected, she had probably always known. Sera had known Cid would never give in to his mind-control if his sorceress were not taken from him first. She had known that Caraway's thoughts would be closed to him if he were ever permitted to see his daughter again. _And that bitch knows that Caraway is the only one with any power I could possess now, so she has driven him from Deling in order to ensure my loyalty. _It was infuriating.

Like a marionette, the arm of the man reached out, grabbing the crumbling rubber bulb at the end of the gearshift. The transmission ground horribly as the man shifted the lorry into neutral and killed the lights. A second later the sputtering engine died as he removed the keys from the ignition. 

A few more flakes of rust fell from what might have been an old bullet hole in the driver's-side door as Norg swung the man's leg out and onto a warped footboard. The truck's ancient leaf springs protested as he dropped to the grimy alleyway bricks, slamming the door behind him. _How could I have let this happen?_ Norg surveyed the dank space between buildings with just the slightest twinge of nerves. _When did I allow her to take control of my plans?_ Though he knew he was really back in his institute—years in the future—though he knew he could shed this body as easily as a worn-out coat should the need arise, the silent darkness still unnerved the former Shumi. _Never felt comfortable in the open, especially at night…_ He had been—and always would be—a cave dweller. _But not the dingy corridors those other fools are content to live with, oh no. I once lived in the finest cave of them all. Surrounded by legions of mercenaries, I was, encased in an indestructible machine, I was._ The body winced. _Well, nearly indestructible… _Unconsciously running a hand along the cracked sideboards of the lorry, Norg paid no notice to the jagged splinters of wood that pierced the body's skin. _Now look at yourself, Norg! Look at what you've become! Errand boy to a crazy old witch. Afraid of your own shadow—for fear she might be lurking in it._ The body snorted as Norg peered back at the truck's cargo of tall, dust-colored gas canisters. _Two years ago from this time, with a wave of your hand you could have sent a hundred SeeDs to dispatch her, yet now you let her hold the keys to your future._

Soot from the lorry's sagging tailpipe brushed a dirty stain across the man's pant leg as he turned suddenly. Norg suddenly sensed that he was no longer alone. "Is that you?" He made the body call out softly while peering into the darkness behind a forgotten dumpster.

The voice was a startlingly close croak behind him in the night. "Do you have my supplies?" Norg jumped as he stifled a curse. 

The figure was defined only by a dark space where there existed an absence of lights reflected from puddles of scummy water or rat's eyes. Sweat that had nothing to do with the close humid heat of the night broke out on the body's forehead. "Show me the sapphire." 

The shadow did not seem to move, but after a moment, a cool blue glow appeared.

A dozen or so years in the future a body hooked into an elaborate device, surround by loops of tubing and wire, jerked spasmodically.

Norg bit down on the gasp. The azure lights dancing within the sapphire crystal were mesmerizing, the size and cut of the gem were incredible, but the Shumi's attention was captured by the features the glow from the jewel revealed on its holder. Though it was heavily swaddled in dirty robes, a few parts of the person's body were still visible. Norg swallowed repeatedly and tried to look away but found he could not. Instead, he stared in shock at the disfigured face illuminated in the light of the Sapphire Dream. A single mottled eye gazed unblinkingly back at him. The other eye was covered by a bulbous growth of flesh. Everything shown blue in the light of the crystal, but long trails of a viscous secretion were tinted a distinctive shade of green as they dribbled from the corners of the ravaged organ. The person's face itself was cracked and bleeding in a dozen places where something dark pushed through between patches of blotchy discolored skin. Bits of flesh peeled away from these dark masses. As those of a corpse long buried, lips like shriveled figs hung loosely from a row of skull's teeth and quivered loosely when the thing spoke. "Where are my supplies?" 

Norg had to fight very hard to keep most of the disgust he felt at the sight of the thing from leaking into his voice. "In the back of the truck. The vehicle is yours as well." 

Norg could only imagine what inner ravages of a person's body could make a voice so horrible. It sounded like the thing before him was nearly at death's door as the words gurgled and whistled out of the puckered cavity in the thing's skull that served as a mouth. His suspicions were reinforced by a dark bubble of blood that formed on the person's lips as it spoke again. "Good. Then hand me the keys, and I will give this accursed thing to you."

At last, at these words, Norg overcame the shock of the thing's horrible visage. Startled, he might have been, caught off-guard, he still was, a bit—but a fool, Norg was not. He might have been born north of the equator, but in the time since being deposed as Garden Master of Balamb, he had become quite familiar with the Federated Republican Islands of Southern Pella, or as it was commonly called; Pirate's Archipelago. The deal the leprous being before him was proposing was a trade he would not have trusted a FRISP government official with, let alone a decaying beast dressed in a thief's cloak. The grey, green, and black eye narrowed at the appearance of a snub-nosed pistol in Norg's hand. "No… I think not." He took a small step back from the thing—something he had been longing to do for quite some time—and motioned toward the open tailgate of the lorry. "Why don't you just place the crystal there, then go on up to the cab." Norg spread the hand not holding the weapon in a conciliatory gesture. "The keys are in the ignition." He lied.

The bruised eye narrowed a tiny bit more, then the thing bowed its head in acquiescence. Norg had just begun to smile in return when he felt something cool and moist brush his hand. He looked down. 

This time, the Shumi could not stifle the exclamation of disgust as he shook the bloody bits of flesh clinging to the palm where the gun had rested moments before. It took a moment for his brain to register the fact that he was no longer holding the weapon. A split-second later, the signals from the man's eyes told him that he was no longer on the safe end of the gun. A sneaking suspicion and a lightness in his pocket—along with another prick of cool wetness indicated that he no longer possessed the keys to the lorry.

Holding Norg's weapon in a rock-steady grip, the thing wheezed quietly. "Let's not play games. Just take that nightmare and go."

Seeing that he had little choice—the crystal was now resting on the tailgate of the lorry in front of him—Norg carefully reached for it. To his surprise, he did not wake up in that sterile room many years in the future—the body within which he had taken residence destroyed—but rather, the fingers under his control grasped the large sapphire and lifted it from its perch. The weapon pointed at him remained silent.

Carefully wrapping the glowing jewel a cloth shroud he had brought, Norg chanced a smile—careful to avoid looking at the thing's face. "Well then, if our business here is finished…"

"Not quite yet." Norg heard a footfall and looked up. It took all his self-control not to pull away in disgust as the thing thrust its decaying face close to his own. "You…" It's one eye narrowed. "You are the same one I dealt with in Deling." Dead flesh crackled as its brows knit together. "You are my weapons supplier… but you're not the same person… how is this possible?" 

"What?!" At last, Norg did take a step backwards. _This… thing… is it the sniper the sorceress had me supply those enchanted rounds to?_ Norg's eyes widened. _Impossible!_

"Yes," The thing continued to croak. "yes, I recognize those eyes. They are a different color now but…" Suddenly, the decaying sniper took a step backwards. The hammer on the pistol she held clicked back. "Then… if you are the same person… and you are in league with the sorceress… she was…" Before Norg could move. Before he could do anything than raise his hands, the sniper lowered her weapon. "No." Bits of blood and flesh fell to the alley floor as she shook her head. "No. I have done my duty. I wash my hands of this matter." 

Norg could only whisper. "You are the sniper from Deling…"

The pistol disappeared and the sniper turned. She seemed to be speaking to herself now. "If you serve that sorceress, so be it. Our business here is finished." She began walking toward the cab of the lorry.

Norg's words followed her. "The sorceress made you the way you are?"

The dark robes held stock-still in the night. "No." Norg thought he made out a shiver in the darkness. "I made myself this way." A human hand—ridges of serrated bone pushing through its knuckles fell upon the latch to the cab door.

"Wait." The hint of an idea flashed through Norg's mind. "Why are you serving the sorceress? Why did you retrieve the Sapphire Dream for her?"

"I do not serve her. I do this as a favor… to a friend." The sniper's gurgling voice was dismissive, but her had did not move on the latch of the door.

"How can that be so? You know she serves none but herself." Norg's eyes narrowed slyly as his brain quickly weighed the situation. _Yes… perhaps something can be arranged…_ "The sorceress Sera is friend to no one."

Slowly, the sniper withdrew her hand from the door and turned to face the Shumi. "Do not move." Norg could see that, once again, his pistol had been leveled at his chest. "I have retrieved the Sapphire Dream for the sorceress Rachel, not the sorceress Sera…" She trailed off at the sound of twisted laughter ringing from the man.

…

The ballroom was silent, still, and cold. The space had lain undisturbed during the Galbadian invasion and occupation of the garden. Only a single set of footprints marred the perfect coating of dust that had drifted down over the polished marble floor tiles—shaken loose by vibrations from the recent fighting. The prints began at the gilded doors at the entrance to the room, descended the sweeping leftmost stairway, and then wound their way between the great arches arrayed around the periphery of the room. The track of disturbed dust ended beneath the enormous panes of the huge window at the far end of the dancing floor. The soft blue glow of the lights climbing between the room's arches competed with the dusky purple of evening cascading in through ceiling skylight for the right to illuminate the kneeling figure resting on the raised platform before the statue of the sorceress. His weapon lying forgotten at his side, Cid wept into the dust before the cold, stone feet of his love. He had never been a strong man, he had tried to tell her so, so many years ago when they had first met. She had laughed gently at him and told him that she knew—when the time came—he would do what had to be done.

_"My love, I do not need a strong man. I need a just man, a caring man… I need the man who loves me, Cid. I need you."_

"But you did need a strong man, my lady." Cid whispered the damning words. "You needed someone who could protect you… and it was not me." It was not only the sorceress who needed someone stronger than himself, Cid knew, but also the entire world. They had needed someone who would not fail the _one_ good sorceress, someone who would not fold and give his mind and body over to a murderer from the future. Cid's hands clenched into fists. Even while possessed, he had known that a stronger man could have fought off the thing that had taken over his mind. _A strong man's heart, even broken like mine, could have endured the struggle, fought off that twisted thing._

For hours Cid knelt there. The cold laughter of uncaring starlight fell all around him as the lights in the heavens pitched and wheeled with the movement of the garden. At some point during that long, silent night, golden light spilled from between the panes of the double-doors at the far end of the room. A person's shadow traced a finger of darkness through the cascade of light as they stood silently behind the closed entryway. After a while, the arrow of shadow receded and the hallway lights dimmed once again. 

Xu allowed herself yet another sigh. However, unlike those that came before, the exhalation was an expression of sadness rather than relief. Her sharp staccato footfalls echoing in the deserted nighttime corridor, the SeeD's eyebrows lowered just the slightest bit. _I sighed in relief when the report came through that we had retaken the Garden, then again when I learned the strike force had only taken minor injuries and no casualties, and then once more when I actually stepped off the transport and saw it for myself._ Xu closed her eyes at the memory of the wave of relief that had washed over her, gazing across the scorched tiles of the quad—and later the main gate—and seeing that not a single student or SeeD uniform clad the bodies of the fallen. _Unbelievable._ The woman's frown deepened. _Yes, unbelievable that they would leave the Garden practically undefended—unbelievable that they would chose a course that left them close enough to Esthar for our strike. Unbelievable, that is, only if you fail to recognize this for the trap that it must be. _It was so obvious, she wondered what strategist could have been so naïve as to believe no one in SeeD would recognize that they had just been handed back their Garden. _But perhaps it is not naivety, after all…_ Xu shrugged to the empty hallway._ …here we are. _She shook her head, clamping her teeth together in frustration. _They must have recognized that we had no choice._ Deprived of the garden, the Balamb arm of SeeD would wither and die, just as the Galbadian SeeD had disappeared. 

Emerging into the second floor hallway, Xu paused a moment to look back at the darkened glass of the ballroom doors. _It hasn't gotten bad yet. No desertations, no resignations just yet. Everyone's still in a crisis mindset, but when it finally wears off…_ "Cid, will you return to lead your children?" 

Continuing on down the dimmed corridor, Xu was afraid she already knew the answer to the whispered question.

…

Radar Intercept Officer, Andrew McKay, noted that—once again—his butt had fallen asleep. Despite the thousands of dollars that had undoubtedly gone into the development of his padded ejection seat to prevent this exact condition, he still found himself shifting uncomfortably as he adjusted the range on the Multi-Function Display. He keyed his mic. "Gonzo, that's an affirmative, three bandits on an intercept course." McKay used his partner's callsign while addressing the pilot of the long-range jet interceptor in which he sat. "Switch your MFD to channel two to see it."

There was a short pause while the pilot of the fighter complied with his RIO's instructions. "I see 'em. Well, no wingmen for this mission. Let's see how long we can keep them away from Caraway's transports."

McKay was about to reply, but the whump of the jet's afterburners igniting—along with the three-g snap-roll which forced his helmet against the Plexiglas windscreen—cut him off. 

Less than a mile behind the jet, the navigator of the lead transport craned his neck in order to shout back to the loadmaster. "Approaching drop area." Sitting in front of him, the co-pilot toggled his microphone. 

"He didn't say much, eh?" He pointed as their lone fighter escort rolled out of formation and streaked off to the north.

The pilot shrugged. "I guess we're supposed to figure it out on our own. Suppose we may be in for a fight."

"Either way, looks like we're gonna make the drop before the action starts." The co-pilot flipped a toggle, extending the huge transport's flaps in preparation for deploying paratroopers. "That's what matters, right?"

"I guess." The pilot's reply was less than enthusiastic. 

Fifty feet further back, Zell looked up as a red light near the tail of the aircraft began flashing, illuminating the faces of the other paratroopers around him. A moment later, the noise level in the cargo hold rose a bit more as the rear loading ramp of the aircraft opened, brilliant daylight streaming in—along with a gusty cold wind. 

Taking care to ensure that the jump officer's attention was on the widening slit of daylight at the rear of the cargo hold, Zell furtively reached up and unclipped his static line ripcord from his parachute handle. _I'll be damned if I'm opening my chute at over a thousand feet in broad daylight!_ No self-respecting SeeD would have done otherwise. "Galbadians be damned." Zell smiled to himself. He was feeling much better now that combat was close. Something in the tension building around the other soldiers aboard the aircraft was calming the SeeD, focusing his thoughts on the task at hand. In an unconscious gesture, the blond fighter nodded to himself; it was at times like this that he remembered just why he had joined SeeD—chosen the way of his grandfather—chosen the way of the warrior. The excitement, the danger, and yes—even the fear—in the air heightened his sense of being alive.

Turning away from the sight of the sparkling ocean hundreds of feet below, the jump officer bawled. "JUMPERS! STANDBY!!" 

Almost as one, the paratroopers rose and readied the clips attached to their ripcords. Zell smiled as he noted their lack of hesitation. _Good; veterans, we might just have a chance…_

"JUMPERS! READY!!" The wind whipping through the cargo bay carried away the sound of fifty clips snapping closed over the cables that ran the length of the hold. 

Holding his arms up and standing between the two rows of paratroopers, the jump officer kept a steady eye on the red light near the loading ramp. His harness firmly secured to the floor of the cargo bay, he rocked slightly as the wind from the open door buffeted him. Suddenly, both arms dropped as he shouted "GO!" The light had flashed to green. 

"GO! GO! GO!" As each static line clip snagged at the end of the cable—pulling the jumper's parachute ripcord before they had fallen more than twenty feet—the jump officer shouted for the next in line to dive from the open cargo door.

In an amazingly short amount of time, it was Zell's turn. As the blond SeeD leapt out into the bright blue sky—just as he had done in dozens of training drops—instead of being clear of all thoughts; as he liked it; a single name flashed through Zell's mind. _Isis_ "Damn!" The slipstream carried his words away.

In the blink of an eye, the SeeD streaked past the open chutes of a half-dozen paratroopers, startling them all as he dove toward the massive structure, still several hundred feet further down. 

The transport aircraft had come in as low as they dared over the floating Galbadia Garden—sailing from its previous anchoring point, toward Esthar—but the division of airborne infantry they scattered across the sky still had a long exposed drop to cover before they would alight on the upper decks of the garden.Zell, on the other hand, was running out of altitude fast. The upper decks of Galbadia Garden raced up to meet him. 

At the last possible second, Zell pulled his main chute ripcord. The SeeD continued to plummet toward the metal decks as his drogue chute deployed. A second later, he was jerked skyward by the acceleration of the main parachute unfolding. Zell didn't have time to catch his breath before his feet slammed into G-Garden. Knees buckling under the impact, he collapsed onto his hands. 

The martial artist was on his feet before his sky-blue parachute touched the deck. There was an angry whine as a bullet zipped past his head. From where he stood, Zell could see a large number of armed Galbadians, most pointing their guns skyward—at the descending forces of General caraway. Two of them, however, had aimed their weapons at the SeeD. Zell's parachute drifted to the ground, temporarily blocking his view of the Galbadians. PUCK, PUCK! The fabric rippled with the impact of two more shots. 

Zell made haste to detach himself from the parachute. As he did so, the Galbadians on the garden's upper decks began firing at the paratroopers above.

The parachute settled to the ground, and the Galbadian soldiers were once again given a clear shot at the SeeD; only, he was no longer there. In his place, a giant serpentine bird flapped its huge wings and shrieked. A thunderous blast of lightning sent the Galbadians flying, buying the airborne troopers the time they needed to land on the Garden. 

Of the four-hundred jumpers, three hundred and six landed safely on deck, the rest either missed the garden entirely, or were killed by ground fire before they could land. Of Caraway's paratroop force seven broke one or both legs upon landing. Another dozen troopers misjudged their landings and ended up with dehabilitating sprains. Those still able to fight found themselves scattered across the upper decks of the garden, separated from their squads and officers. Confusion reigned.

Despite the troubles of the invading rebels, the Galbadians attempting to hold the garden's upper decks still found themselves badly outnumbered and completely surrounded. With fire pouring in from all sides, and almost no cover available on the exposed surface of Galbadia Garden, the commanders of the garden's defenders began shouting for their troops to fall back to the rooftop access hatchways.

The defender's rifle was sent spinning by a kick from the blond SeeD. Without hesitation, Zell spun—leaving the man still staring at his empty hands—and swept the feet out from under another Galbadian who had a sword drawn back to strike the martial artist. Zell turned back to the first defender only to find that an errant parachute had swept the man off of the sloping decking and sent him plummeting into the water two thousand feet below. 

Despite his good luck, the SeeD realized that he was being overwhelmed as another wave of seven Galbadians charged forward. They were blown backward by Zell's last Aero spell, but immediately gained their feet and rushed forward again, swords and pikes held at the ready. 

Finding his reserves bare of any spell—except for a dozen damned Scans—Zell dropped into his favorite fighting stance, preparing to meet the rush. "Yeah, I love a fair fight!" He bared his teeth.

…

Squall sat on the vibrating bench that ran along one side of the helicopter's interior. He did his best to stare out the open side hatch at the sparkling aquamarine ocean. The chopper was now an hour north of the misty overcast skies that pervaded in the area where the Naso was now, undoubtedly, laying on the bottom of the sea. After the low layer of stratus clouds had disappeared over the horizon, the sky had remained cloudless and as clear as the blank face of the ocean below.

Squall studied the 7.62 mm machine gun hanging unmanned on its pedestal—right next to the empty brackets for the sonar buoy winch—doing his best not to look at his sorceress. Staring silently at the ceiling of the helicopter, she had neither moved nor spoken since their escape from the destroyer and attacking submarines. Squall would have given anything to know what was on her mind, but something kept him from speaking. He sighed to himself. At least she was looking a bit less pale now.

_It's just too much!_ Rinoa's eyes burned, but no tears came. _So many people are suffering, fighting, dying… all because of me._ She felt ready to explode, to scream, to somehow release the feelings that tore at her, but there were no outward manifestations that could convey what she felt. _And poor Squall. I can feel him sitting over there, confused, alone. He knows about as well as I do how to cope with this… this…_ How could it be?How could one person be responsible for so much? How could it be her? _I'm nobody. I mean, I wanted to be a revolutionary, I wanted to be somebody, I wanted to do something important… but not like this—never like this!_

And why had The Fate refused to answer her question? Why had it told her what she had not wanted to hear? _Papa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you for so long… but you should have told me! You… I can't… I wish I could tell you so many things, but I can't. Not after what I've become._ "So many people…" Rinoa's lips moved, but she made no sound at all. "…and I can't help any of them." Her eyes closed.

She had not cared that her sorcery would have killed her back on the stern of the Naso, she didn't care now. _My life means nothing but suffering to everyone._

"That's not true, Rinoa."

Her eyes snapped open. Squall was kneeling beside the stretcher on which she still lay.

He shook his head. "Not to me." The staccato beat of the rotor blades drowned out Squall's voice, but she heard him nonetheless. "Because…"

Sliding an arm out from under the blanket that covered her, Rinoa held a trembling finger to Squall's lips. "No, please. Don't say it. I know you want to tell me you love me, but how can you, after all that's happened?" She didn't know if she had the strength for tears again. "I love you Squall, you're the only person who makes me happy in this world and I don't want to hurt you, but… I don't want to go on living like this." Her eyes were pleading. "I can't go on living with what I am!"

Squall felt fingers of ice wrap round his heart. _Oh god, Rinoa, Please don't talk like that._ What was he supposed to do? What could he do? _I won't let you go, I'm just as responsible as you… and… we cannot be apart! _Would she accept what The Fate had told him? Would it be enough to know of what their daughter would do? _But what about Siefer? What about Ultimecia? We killed her! Rinoa, you are such a powerful sorceress but you're so fragile… _And Squall knew he could never risk her life. Not for anything, not for trust, not for caring, not for truth. Thus began the lie.

"Because you are a sorceress?" Squall shook his head. "Rinoa, no. You are not responsible for anyone's death. You didn't kill the crew of the destroyer, you didn't start the war in Timber, you didn't activate the Lunatic Pandora! I won't accept that, and neither should you!" 

Rinoa turned her head away from Squall's intensity. Closing her eyes, she clutched the blanket with both hands, pressing it to her face. "That's not the reason." She whispered.

Squall forced himself to calm a bit. Bending down until his lips nearly touched her ear, he drew a breath. _There will be no turning back. I love you Rinoa, more than anything else._ "The Fate told me about Siefer, about what he said, Rinoa. She told me about our child…" Rinoa cringed. "…she told me about Ultimecia…" a moan. "…and she told me, that it was all a lie." Silence.

"Cid's letter…"

"A lie." 

At last, Rinoa's eyes returned his steady gaze. The absolute trust in them stabbed through Squall's heart. But the hope, the hope he saw gave him heart to continue. _This is the only way. To hell with my oaths, to hell with SeeD, and to hell with this whole fucking world! _"How, Squall?"

_I'm not going to let you die, Rinoa, and I won't see you bear this burden. I'll carry it for you, even if it means I have to turn the world against us myself! _"Cid wrote that letter, Rinoa. He told the same lie to Quistis, Selphie, Irvine, and Zell, then he sent them to kill us. Siefer had orders to give you the letter if the SeeDs failed to do their job. Cid set all of this up."

An anguished cry from the sorceress. "Why?"

Squall's gaze was steady, years of practice kept it that way. _Betray everything you've ever believed in for her, Squall? Where's your justification? _It was in the eyes of his sorceress. "Because they are god-damned mercenaries, Rinoa." Squall held his face in a rigid mask. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to believe it, but it is true."

It was true. It had to be true. She could see the pain in her knight's eyes as he revealed everything to her. As he spoke, it became too much to bear. A few moments ago, Rinoa had been sure that nothing else could touch her. She had felt so emotionally drained. Now she flung her arms around Squall's neck, and clung there for dear life as his words filtered through her broken sobs. _Is there no one good on this planet? Is there nothing but evil and greed in the hearts of all men?_

Squall's voice quivered with rage as he told her of Cid Kramer's plan to de-stabilize the Galbadian government. Without an antagonistic Galbadia, how was SeeD to refill their ranks and stave off bankruptcy? A stable government Galbadia would have meant the end of SeeD; a declaration of world peace, its death knell. Maintaining the massive Gardens would never be practical without major wars to fight. 

But Cid had gotten more than he bargained for with the explosion of aggression from the newly-divided Galbadia. The attack on B-Garden had caught even him by surprise.

Rinoa had to ask. She swallowed her grief as best she could. "Did Edea know about this, Squall?" 

Squall shook his head. "I don't know. The Fate died before she could finish telling me." She felt the muscles in his back and arms tighten. "I'm sorry, Rinoa, I could have stopped this when I was in Deling, but instead, I played right into that bastard Cid's hands!" The poisonous lie flowed more freely now, but the heartsickness he felt threatened to consume him. He knew, from this moment on, the feeling would never abate.

Sniffing, Rinoa looked up. "It's okay, Squall." She lifted one arm and ran her fingers through his hair. "I understand why you did." Her eyes dropped. "I'm spinning, Squall. I'm falling down a deep dark hole, where nothing is what it seems to be." Her gaze met his once more as her arms tightened around him. "I'm so, so glad I have one person I can trust."

_Oh god!_ Squall jerked in his seat. White-knuckled hands clamped down on the edges of the metal bench. Mouth dry, pulse racing, Squall's gaze tracked wildly across the helicopter's interior. Rinoa was sitting upright, her gaze pierced his soul. _I didn't say the lie? It was all a dream? Rinoa, did you see…?_ She had risen from the stretcher, and was now sitting next to him. He found that he couldn't meet her eyes.

A slender arm around his hunched shoulders, cool fingers on his shirt. "Squall?"

He had lost the power of speech.

Another delicate-fingered hand over his own—now clasped together. "Squall? I saw it all, just as you did. I know what you would have done for me." _How can a lie make me happy? I don't want to be deceived anymore—especially not by you, Squall. And yet…_

Something was in his throat, Squall swallowed. 

_I know how much you loved SeeD, Squall, and you gave it up for me. Now you would throw it all away, forswear everything you've believed in, again, for me? _Somehow, it almost seemed that the sorceress's voice held a tinge of—could it be—happiness, amazement? "How can you love me like that, Squall? How could you take a burden like that for me? How is it possible that I mean as much to you as you mean to me?" _How could I have been so blind? Why wouldn't I let myself believe in this man's love for me?_

There was something in the knight's throat, a lump that was making it hard to breathe.

He still couldn't meet her gaze. _I see it now; it's not because you were ordered to protect me, it's not because I'm your sorceress, it's because you really do…_ "I'm sorry, Squall. I'm sorry to tear you apart like I have." The arms around him tugged gently. "I promise, no matter how bad things get, no matter what else we find out, I won't leave you again, Squall, ever." A pause. "The future… well, I guess it will just have to work itself out." She exhaled. The decision was made.

His composure was completely swept away. There was nothing he could do, his strength was gone. As he buried himself in her embrace, for an instant, Squall gave up all pretense of hiding his heart's vulnerability from his love.

And Rinoa was happy. 

…

Oily bubbles circulated slowly beneath the ramshackle wooden bridge spanning the lethargic stream. The dimmed lights of the training center were reflected in distorted pallid rainbows by the filmy surface of the air-filled spheres. Above, the stained wooden planks creaked with the passage of two pairs of feet. Nothing stirred in the murky water as the chiming of female laughter and the distinctive drawl of a certain Galbadian sharpshooter drifted through the humid air.

"'s no problem a'tall, Miss." Irvine laid on even more drawl than usual.

"Why, aren't you just the gentleman, Mr. Kinneas?" The girl, Terra, Terry, T-something, flashed a smile.

Irvine stopped himself from scratching his head just in time. _Can't even remember her name, you dog. _He offered up a mental shrug. _Just like old times. _A grin began to spread across his face. _You can take the tiger out of the jungle…_

Believing the smile to be for her benefit, the girl tilted her head slightly. "I really enjoyed our conversation, Irvine. I'm glad we had a chance to talk about things."

_Conversation?_ The sharpshooter fought down a frown. _She just spent the evening telling me how much she admired me._ "Uh, yup. Me too." _Not that I mind, or anything..._

"And you are so sweet, to offer to walk me back to my dorm…"

Right now, any three of a hundred ribald thoughts should have been running through the self-styled cowboy and ladies man's head, but—for some reason—Irvine had been finding himself oddly distracted all night. "Uh-huh." He muttered absently.

"Do you think we did the right thing, Irvy?" Selphie abruptly dropped the magazine she had been pretending to study. "I mean, with Quistis and all…?"

"Selph, darlin', I really don't know." Irvine tipped his hat—once again rescued from the short brown bobs atop the little SeeD's head—back, uncovering his eyes, as he reclined on the dorm room's bed.

"It's just, it seems so strange… We all went through so much together, and now… I dunno. I guess I just hate to see everybody split up." Selphie looked like she wanted to stand, but remained seated. "I've just been thinking; it really seems like Rachel might have been telling the truth."

The corner of Irvine's mouth drew downward into a pensive frown. "Babe, I think the best thing for us to do, is to not beat ourselves up over it." He shrugged. "I have a feeling we'll find out who was right sooner or later."

"Yeah, I guess we can't… well, we can't save the world ourselves all the time." Now, Selphie did stand. 

"That's right, mae little butter biscuit, that's why we're in SeeD." Irvine swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Follow orders and try to do what's right."

"But, that just seems like it… I don't know… like it give us less potential to do good or something." Already in the middle of a departure from her normal cheerfulness, Selphie added to her uncharacteristic behavior by beginning to pace.

Irvine scratched his head. "Yeah, but it also give us less of a chance to screw things up." And besides, they really were needed here, at Balamb garden.

Even now, the institution was sailing straight into the teeth of yet another battle. The use of Estharian aircraft and supplies had not been freely given. In return for services rendered, the Estharian government had requested SeeD assistance in their struggle to keep the reactivated Lunatic Pandora away from their coast. Though it was unclear what help SeeD could be in stopping the inexorable progress of the massive artifact, the garden had been asked to standby near the area where Estharian aircraft and naval forces would try to engage the Pandora and any escorts it might have.

The sharpshooter extended a long arm, snagging the hem of the short yellow jumper—of which Selphie seemed to possess an inexhaustible supply—the SeeD was wearing. "Now stop all that gol-durned pacing. I'm trying to study certain parts o' yer an-atom-ee, and you're makin' them a movin' target." 

Naturally, this netted Irvine an exasperated swat, an obligatory scandalized look and exclamation of disgust. However, once these things were out of the way, a sunny giggle and flashing smile broke through the brooding clouds that had been gathering around Selphie.

Irvine realized that Tara, Tasha, whoever, had stopped walking and was now standing in a dormitory's open doorway. She was also saying something. "—happy we had a chance to get to know each other—" 'bla bla bla', the usual temporizing, 'would you like to come in for a bit' _Ah yes, now we're getting to the good part, right? Still smooth as ever, Irvine, old boy._ Undoubtedly, going in there would result in Irvine getting to know who-ever-she-was better in a little more… intimate manner.

However, much to his own surprise, he found himself tipping his hat and politely declining because of the lateness of the hour and a few other mumbled lame excuses. _Huh, how about that?_

Even more surprising, when asked when they should see each other again, Irvine spontaneously vocalized the first thing that popped into his head. "Um… never. Bye." 

A few moments later, on his way down the hall leading to a certain diminutive SeeD's door—to engage in another, likely unsuccessful (somehow, his 'darlin' was always a dozen steps ahead of his fumbling attempts to disable her home-made security lock system), attempt to gain entry after-hours—Irvine frowned. _Aw,dammit, Kinneas, don't tell me you've been…_

_Domesticated._

"Nahh." 

…

Dahyte tried to control the shaking of her hands. There really was no point in being afraid, she reasoned with herself, if this didn't work, they were all dead anyway. Still, the sight of the eight-inch hypodermic needle poised above her left breast—and the thought of what she was about to do with it—provoked a involuntary reaction of visceral fear. 

Her rapid breathing was loud inside the still-sealed mask. The skin-sealing headpiece was the only part of the armored moon suit that Dahyte had not shed; its flow of heavily-tainted oxygen being all that stood between her and death by asphyxiation. _But that's about to change… _Dahyte made a valiant effort to keep her eyes averted from the needle as she swallowed with a dry mouth. _…one way or another._

The light emanating from open self-contained refrigeration unit spilled across the dusty laboratory, illuminating the decapitated Centra mannequin, counters, sinks, ancient equipment, and an empty plastic container—freshly drained of the smoky liquid that now spurted from the end of the needle as Dahyte pushed the hypodermic's plunger forward to ensure no air bubbles remained in the mixture.

The instructions on how to prepare the frozen solution for injection had been remarkably easy to follow. The refrigeration unit—amazingly still in operation after nearly a millennia—had a graphic on the front that obviously depicted the transformation of a humanoid outline into that of the mannequin that now leaned, headless, against the far wall. Inside, Dahyte had found only one small container of sub-cooled liquid. After a few moments of searching, she found the machine shown on the label of the container. Though she could not understand the words written below the pictures, a pictorial guide proved sufficient to re-heat the liquid, locate the device to be used to transfer it into the body, and…

_…and find out that I have to stab myself through the heart with that damn thing._ Some detached part of Dahyte's consciousness found it interesting that she should be experiencing so much fear over such a trifle—after all, hadn't the sniper fearlessly faced far more deadly situations in the name of her various SeeD missions? _But this time is somehow different._ Closing her eyes, she shook her head abruptly. "It's not any different Dahyte, just do it!" But it was different. For what might have been the first time, the sniper was not risking her life for SeeD or for duty, but rather for… 

_A friend?_ Resting on the floor, on her knees, she shook her head again. "No, for my own life!" She insisted, and plunged the needle into her chest.

The hypodermic was slender enough that the only pain the sniper felt was a slight pricking as the sharp metal pipe severed nerve endings in her outer and middle dermis layers. However, much more disturbing to her was the steady tugging sensation as the needle slid deeper and deeper into her chest cavity.

Self-injection is never easy, and such a shot directly into the central organ of the cardiovascular system practically unheard of. To drive the needle deep enough, in just the right spot without hitting a rib or other obstruction required more luck than skill. It was nothing short of a miracle that the needle actually managed to penetrate the sniper's left ventricle before she jammed the plunger down, forcing the contents of the hypodermic directly into her blood stream.

Ever-so-carefully, but still with great haste, Dahyte drew the long needle out of her body. Casting it into a dark corner of the room with a curse, she pitched forward, pressing both hands to the spot where the injection had gone in and gasping down great gulps of the foul air circulating inside her mask.

Cheek pressed against the cold tile flooring of the dark laboratory, the sniper continued to clasp her hands against her chest, drawing herself into a ball as a burning sensation began spreading in all directions from her sternum.

If she was hoping for the sensation to abate, Dahyte was disappointed, for the pain continued to spread throughout her body. Her vision darkened as a red haze filtered into her periphery. The burning agony inside of her intensified. _Have to stay awake…!_ She gritted her teeth against it, and tried counting backward from one-hundred by sevens.

Dahyte had only reached seventy-two before a lance of fire seemed to be driven into her lungs. She opened her mouth to scream and a coppery, warm liquid splattered against the inside of her faceplate. 

The glittering eyes of the bodiless mannequin head stared impassively at the figure lying in the strip of light from the refrigeration unit as it writhed in agony. Suddenly, the body stiffened. Back arching, it's feet kicked uselessly at the floor, propelling it into a line of cabinets as it's hands beat frantically about the seals to its mask.

The last thing Dahyte heard before losing consciousness was the cracking of her metacarpals as the force of her attempts to release the catches on her helmet snapped the bones in her right hand.

She awoke with her cheek firmly affixed to the floor by a sticky dark substance. Dahyte didn't need to look to know that it was her own blood. It was just as well, since she was having trouble seeing anyway. She shuddered, her mind calling out desperately for the cool composure—the same composure she felt when centering the crosshairs on a mark's forehead—to return. But that part of her had fled long ago.

Still, even alone, Dahyte did her best to take stock of the situation. Slowly, the realization dawned on her that her breath mask was lying some three feet away from her. _I'll be damned…_ She had been so sure that the injection had been a mistake. Such unbelievable pain could never come with a successful operation! She had thought—before passing out—that she must have done something wrong in the preparation of the mutagen. _But I didn't… it worked.. I can breathe._ Another shiver raised the hairs on her exposed back. _Now I'm just like those monsters, out there._ The shivering wouldn't cease. She knew she must be suffering some sort of post-traumatic reaction, but residual pain still clouded her mind. She had no idea how to deal with her situation.

_Breathe. _Drawing on some long-forgotten piece of advice, Dahyte tried to take a deep calming breath. It was a mistake. It was nearly five minutes before her paroxysm ended. She found that she was reduced to the tiniest of pants. She might be able to breath the moon's atmosphere, but her body was still adjusting to operation with different chemicals in the aftermath of the fast mutagenic virus she had absorbed. She knew she would need to move very slowly to allow her ravaged body to recover. _But I don't have time for that._

Hal had been doing his level best to stave off the carbon-dioxide induced sleep he felt encroaching on his consciousness. 

For a while, after he returned from watching their only way off this rock smacked out of the sky, he had wished he hadn't given Quistis a knockout dosage of depressants. The other creepy chick had run off somewhere into the labs, and Hal was feeling more than a little discomfited by the lack of sound or movement in the room. He really would have liked someone to talk to, but speaking to the silent SeeD leaning against him served only to remind him just how alone he was. So, instead, he busied himself with checking her vital signs and attempting to measure time by the rise and fall of her shallow breathing. 

It was amazing that she was still alive, he reflected. He had heard about the supposed benefits of junctioning one's mind to a Guardian Force—like protection from poison—but he now had first-hand experience with the effectiveness of Status-Junctions against seemingly unstoppable toxins.

Frightened awake by the nodding of his head, Hal tried speaking to the unconscious girl again. "You know, if this were the movies, I think this is the point where I would say something like: 'I'm sorry I got you into all this, Miss. Trepe'." He paused to think for a moment. "Or maybe it's the other way around. Yeah, I think you're supposed to say that to me." He shifted his position slightly. "Then, I'd say: 'It's okay, Miss. Trepe, it was fun while it lasted'." He yawned gapingly—a potential sign of oxygen deprivation. "Then you could say: 'Hal, since we're about to die, I suppose it would be okay if you wanted to call me "Quistis".' Then I'd say: 'Wow, and all it took was our imminent death'." He sighed slightly. "Only problem is, you're unconscious because I thought we were about to get eaten, this isn't the movies; so no one's gonna show up to save us at the last second, and from the looks of things, there's probably not a chance in hell of me getting to call you 'Quistis' instead of 'Miss. Trepe'. Let alone anything more." Inside his mask, he pursed his lips. "Well, I'm all outta ideas."

The form sitting against him stirred slightly, and Hal though he detected a noise.

_How in the heck? Those drugs should have kept her out for… oh yeah, Status-J._ Hal leaned forward. "What was that, Miss. Trepe?"

"I said, you can call me Quistis, if you'd like, Hal." Quistis's voice was weak, but her eyes were clear.

Hal felt an embarrassed flush begin to climb his neck. _She was awake that whole time?! _He tried covering with humor. "Woa, slow down, girl! I mean; we just met!"

_This guy's pretty unshakable. His entire squad just met their gruesome ends, and we're next—if we don't run out of air first—and he's joking to put me at ease. _Quistis favored him with a small smile even as she made an effort to use her instructor's commanding voice. "Hmph. Just because you're the only man within a quarter-million miles, don't think…" Her words trailed off.

"Don't think what, Quistis?" Absorbed as he was, Hal failed to notice the staggering approach of the dark figure. His first indication that they were not alone came with Quistis's gasp.

"Oh my god!" The SeeD's eyes widened in horror. 

Hal looked up, a second later, he was fumbling uncoordinatedly for his rifle. "Shit!" It took his stiff fingers a second to wrap around the handle of his weapon, drawing it into his lap. He hadn't even begun raising the gun into firing position when Quistis's hand stopped him.

"Wait… Dahyte, is that you?" 

Hal blinked and looked again. _Jesus, she's right!_ The nondescript SeeD's face was covered in blood. Dark trails ran from the corners of her eyes, like tears, and from her nose ears and mouth. In the darkness, she looked almost as though she were painted for some strange sacrificial rite. She had replaced her armored suit, but her oxygen tanks, mask, and filtration system dangled from one hand. Her other arm was drawn up protectively against her chest. "You—you're not wearing your helmet!" He observed unnecessarily. 

The sniper's wheezing voice was almost too quiet to make out as she shuffled up to the overturned table against which the SeeD and soldier sat. "I hadn't noticed." 

Quick to accept the sniper's shocking change of appearance, Quistis realized what had transpired since she had last been conscious. "You found the mutagen." 

Settling painfully to her haunches before them, Dahyte nodded. "Yes…" She had to pause for breath before continuing. "There was one dose left."

Quistis shivered at the idea of what the SeeD had done. "But, why…?"

The bloodied woman shook her head. "There's… no time… to explain." She dragged her oxygen tanks forward and deposited them on Hal's outstretched legs. "Purge… what's left… of my air… into your tanks." She swayed unsteadily, so great was the effort required to speak.

Hal was quick to shake his head. "No, Quistis, I'll use it to recharge your tanks. You've got the most left, so you've got the best chance of surviving until…"

The sniper shook her head, and was about to speak, but Quistis beat her to it.

"Until what, Hal? No one's coming to rescue us." She tried to wave an arm toward the squatting SeeD, but found she could not move. "I'm sure Dahyte has a plan."

The sniper nodded, careful not to shake her head too violently. "We'll use… the lifeboat." 

Hal tried to smack his head, but only managed to tap his faceplate. "Of course! I had forgotten all about that! Damn!" The effort made him see stars, so concentrated was the carbon dioxide in his air. "Still, you'd both have a better chance if we purged my air and yours into Quistis's tanks."

Quistis was about to object when Dahyte shook her head again and pointed to her right hand. "Broken." "You… carry Quistis… use…" Dahyte croaked.

"Right. I'll use your air." _Was I a little quick accepting that? Well, I do want to live, so sue me. _Because she was turned away from him, he tapped Quistis on the shoulder to indicate he was talking to her. "It should be enough for me to carry you without passing out." He stretched an arm out and snagged Dahyte's air tanks. "Hot damn, we might all make it out of here after all!"

"No." Both soldier and sniper hesitated at Quistis's exclamation. "This isn't going to work." Her voice was carefully analytical. "Carrying me would slow both of you down." Through an effort of willpower, she managed to keep the quiver out of her voice. "With that thing loose in the station, there's a better chance of you both making it if I give my air to you, Hal. Then, you and Dahyte can make a run for it."

Hal shook his head. "Nope, sorry Quistis, only those of us with moving arms and legs are allowed to be self-sacrificing today. Looks like the rule is going to be: either we all go, or none of us does." He didn't spare a glance at Dahyte, not sure whether her expression would indicate agreement with his statement.

Disgusted with herself over the relief she felt, Quistis remained silent while Hal vented the remaining gasses in Dahyte's tanks into his own reservoir. After a few moments he spoke up. "Okay, that should do it." Quistis felt him stir as he slid out from behind her—laying her head down gently on the tile flooring. "One second, babe."

The Blonde SeeD snorted as the commando struggled to his feet. He stood swaying unsteadily for a moment. "Whoo, okay, so far so good." Dahyte watched impassively as Hal bent down over Quistis's still form. "Right, now for the fun part." He spoke while unfastening the buckles on the SeeD's armored suit. 

Quistis frowned. "Ha ha. Touch anything other than that armor, soldier, and we'll see how much fun you find a shot of nonelemental para-magic."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Hal mock-saluted with his left as he slid the other arm under Quistis's waist. "Huaaaaaagh!" He grunted loudly and comedically as he lifted her into a fireman's-carry position.

Upside down and staring at the small of the commando's back, Quistis growled. "Not funny. Keep that up, and you're going to have to hope that we **don't** make it out of this alive."

Truthfully, the effort of lifting Quistis left Hal looking down a dark tunnel as he hovered on the edge of consciousness. It took a few moments of deep breathing to make the darkness in his periphery vision retreat. Dahyte had already left the room by the time he felt well enough to start forward.

"Look at what? Hal, I can't see anything but your utility belt." Quistis was doing her best to keep the mood light—seeing as she really couldn't do anything else in her current position.

"Sorry, Quistis. I was just remarking on how the big metal doors we shut to keep that thing out are pretty heavily dented. I'm going to try to open them now." Hal replied. There was a pause. "Hey, Dahyte, is that what I think it is?"

"Yes." Came the choked reply.

"What is it?" Quistis fought to keep from gritting her teeth. She hated being helpless like this.

"I have… the Sapphire Dream." Rasped the sniper.

"Good, now let's get the hell outta here." Hal said, reaching forward to key the massive door—leading to the rest of the station—open.

"Hal, wait a second." Quistis spoke up. "What if that thing is still out there, waiting for us?"

The blonde SeeD bounced on the commando's shrug. "Well, then we're no more fucked than we were sitting back in that lab."

Before any of the group could reflect on this statement, the two doors began grinding open with an earsplitting screech. The giant slabs of alloyed metal slid four feet apart, and then stopped. 

"Good enough." Hal said, and stepped through. He was careful to keep Quistis's head pointed away from the door on which a mass of crushed tissue and bone stuck. The lights in the hallway beyond had dimmed to barely distinguishable red glimmers in their bulbs, so the group was forced to rely on their suit lights once more. "No wee beasties yet. Well, that's good news." Hal followed the silent sniper as she stepped past him.

They had been traveling for some time down the silent, darkened hallways when suddenly Hal stopped. He made no noise, but Quistis could feel the commando's sharp intake of breath. "What is it?"

The reply was long in coming. "…Nothing. Just catching my breath." Hal lied, stepping around the unrecognizable corpse crushed into the wall of the passageway, again, keeping Quistis pointed away from the dead man. Had he cared to, he could have read Illyan's name from the bloodstained nametag. He did not care to.

After a while, Quistis spoke. "It was one of your team, wasn't it?"

Still following close behind the SeeD sniper, Hal nodded quickly.

"I'm sorry." 

They continued on through the deathly silence.

…

Idly, the slender, long-nailed fingers toyed with the large marble playing piece. The icon held the shape of a tapering rectangular prism. Etchings of twenty-four karat gold described the symbol of Esthar on its sides. 

As the fingers released the object, it remained floating in midair. Ruby lips curled into a slight smile as the sorceress Sera's fingers traced out invisible symbols in the air. Moved by sorcery, the symbol of the Lunatic Pandora cruised slowly over the world map playing board. Suddenly, there was a silent brilliant flash. The light quickly faded, revealing a playing board devoid of the Pandora's icon.

Growing bored with her musings, Sera stood and stretched luxuriously. She took a moment to gaze out the spotless picture windows that made up three walls of the shipboard sitting room. Gleaming in the winter sun, a white helicopter rested on its pad at the stern of the ship. To starboard and to port, the endless, restless blue ocean stretched to the white sky of the horizon. At last, the sorceress's amethyst eyes fell upon a door positioned amidst the lavish decorations adorning the wall that faced toward the ship's bow. "Hm…" Her lips pursed. "Well, why not?" _After all, he's performed admirably in everything else so far… _She smiled to herself. _There's no reason this should be any different._ "And besides…" She addressed the room. "…it's always a good idea to keep the troops happy—in every possible way."

The cream trench coat lay piled in the corner of the room. The black gunblade's tip dug into the spongy matting on the floor as it leaned against a mirrored wall. Beside it, the reflection of the blond knight quivered in sympathetic motion to the shaking of the young man's heavily muscled arms. Feet splayed apart, one arm held behind his back, Siefer performed a series of one-armed push-ups. The single hand touching the ground was propped up on only three fingers. Siefer had lost track of the number of repetitions he had completed with this arm, all that mattered to him was the pain inflicted—it helped keep him distracted from other, less easily escapable torments.

A door—also covered by mirrors—swung open, revealing the sorceress Sera. Stepping into the room, she eyed the sets of weights, the discarded clothing, and the perspiring knight with amusement. "You know, Siefer, darling, all this training is meaningless since you are infused with the power of your sorceress."_ _

Not pausing, the knight said nothing.

Walking across the padded flooring of the exercise room, the sorceress paused next to Siefer. A single ruby nail trailed down the small of the knight's back as he strained to lift himself once more. "Why don't you take a little break, my darling? You've done well." 

Still, the knight remained silent in his exertations.

The sorceress turned away from the bobbing back of the knight. As Siefer lowered himself to the floor, her knees bent and she proceeded to seat herself just below his shoulder blades. 

Siefer grunted as his fingers collapsed under the strain. His palm driven several inches into the spongy floor matting—burning with the pressure applied—Siefer slowly forced his arm to straighten, completing another repetition

Sera could feel the body beneath her shake with the effort of continuing, but continue Siefer did. "Do you recall when I told you of the rewards of serving me?" As she had expected, Sera received no answer. She sighed. "You're performance is most pleasing to me, Siefer." Undisturbed by the rise and fall of the knight's exercise, she inspected the fingernails of her right hand. "I wonder, if there might be a way I could please you as well." 

A long silence fell, broken only by the knight's labored breathing. Finally, he spoke. "Serving a new…" Something—perhaps the effort of forcing his exhausted body to rise once again—made Siefer pause. "…sorceress is pleasing enough for me."

The corners of the sorceress's pouting mouth turned down slightly. The answer was unexpected, and she did not enjoy surprises. She began to speak, then thought better of it. _No. No need to endanger his loyalty over this. _She smiled to herself. _Hm… perhaps he is like **that**._ Wouldn't that be interesting? Standing, the sorceress resolved to pay a bit more attention to her new knight. _Certainly, there must be something extra-ordinary about him. _If there was one thing Sera was confident of, it was her own power of seduction over boys like this one. She laughed. "Very well then, loyal knight…" Her voice trailed off into quiet laughter once more as she left the room.

It was, of course, merely the effort of switching arms that made Seifer's teeth grind together.

…

"Grenade!" Four of the five rebels clustered around the access hatch on Galbadia Garden's roof dove for cover as the rounded metal object clanked to the deck. Rather than follow their lead, the fifth scooped up the explosive and hurled it back down the entryway a split-second before it detonated. 

"Ha ha! Good work!" A bloodied but whole Zell clapped him on the back as the soldier joined the SeeD—huddled behind an exhaust stack next to the hatch. 

The Galbadian didn't spare the blond SeeD a second glance. Instead, he unhooked a grenade from his own belt, pulling the pin and allowing the spring-loaded handle to flip open. "They won't make that mistake again." He replied while ticking off the seconds on his right hand. When the count reached three, he darted forward, and chucked his own hand-held bomb down the smoky hatch. Those nearby ducked down and covered their ears as a blast of angry shrapnel jetted from the hole in the decking.

As he watched, Zell wished—for the thousandth time—he had saved a few spells during the furious fighting that had occurred on the Garden's roof. As it was, the invasion was being held up at the half-dozen entryways by the Garden's determined defenders. 

The rebels had planned to avoid this same exact situation by dropping two parachute pallets loaded with rappelling supplies but, by bad luck, both had missed the Garden and fallen into the ocean. Two shorthanded teams of engineers were working on cutting through the Garden's upper decks with a pair of welding rigs that had been dropped successfully, but the thick ceiling—reinforced against the heavy loads of sand that used to settle upon it during desert dust storms—of G-Garden's upper deck made for slow going.

Still, Zell—and the rebel officers—were pleased with their progress. It was obvious that the scale of their assault had caught the Garden's defenders by surprise, and once the cutting rigs broke through the Garden's armor, cleaning up any remaining resistance should be an easy task.

Zell was just about to say as much to the paratrooper next to him, when he heard his name shouted. "Captain Dincht!"

Zell cast about with a grin. _Captain? When did I get promoted?_ Last he remembered, Zell had been an honorary Major. Spotting a camouflaged paratrooper waving from the midst of a cluster of soldiers, Zell loped over. "Wassup?"

Kneeling next to a squad radioman, the soldier—a Specialist, Zell presumed, badges of rank had not been available to the hastily assembled force—turned to him. "Sir, General Caraway sends his regards and tells me to inform you that our other operations are resulting mainly in successes." Zell grinned, but his expression quickly sobered at the soldier's next sentence. "He also reports that a squadron of attack helicopters has been spotted heading our way." 

"That's not good." Zell might not have scored at the top of his class in tactical battlefield operations, but he knew trouble when he heard it. "Does Lieutenant Colonel Greene know about this?" Zell said, referring to the leader of the operation to capture G-Garden.

"Greene is dead, you're the highest-ranking officer here now, sir." The paratrooper spoke, then quickly turned to confer with the radioman again. 

Zell frowned, he had been the third highest-ranking (honorary) officer to begin with, but that didn't mean he was in charge any part of this operation. _I'm just here to fight._ He sighed. _Well, I guess now isn't the time to argue about it. _"Alright, Specialist, is it?" 

The paratrooper nodded. "Specialist Anderson, Sir." 

"Right, Anderson. Do we have an ETA on those choppers?"

"Nothing solid, Sir. They could be here at any moment." The specialist anticipated his next question. "The cutting teams report that they'll need at least fifteen more minutes to secure entry into the Garden."

Zell scratched his head. He _really_ hated command. _Wonder how Squall felt when the headmaster turned the garden over to him?_ "Okay, do we have any anti-air?"

The specialist seemed to understand the situation remarkably well for an enlisted soldier. Zell wondered if she had somehow been on the commanding officer's staff before he had gotten himself killed. "Sir, we dropped with four light batteries of shoulder-mounted SAMs."

"Well, that's good news." Zell looked pleased. Four full batteries of three missile men apiece should provide adequate air defense.

"Unfortunately, three of them went in the drink right off the bat. The fourth battery lost two of their SAM operators in the initial combat." She looked up. "Things are a real mess here, Sir."

_So I gathered. _"Yeah, um…" Zell looked about, the realization that he didn't know much about their tactical situation just now dawning on him. Across the acres of roof on the upper deck of the garden, bands of paratroopers clustered at random. Radios—and officers for that matter—seemed discouragingly sparse. Large groups of soldiers crouched near the half-dozen hatches to the lower levels. Occasionally, a few would scuttle forward to trade sporadic fire with the defenders on the lower decks. Overall, Zell's intuition gave him the sense of general disorganization. "…you wouldn't happen to have a diagram of where our forces are set up, would you?"

Brightening visibly at the prospect of someone else volunteering to shoulder the burden of command, the specialist pointed to a few crumpled papers covered in scrawls of ink and the radio operator with whom she had been conferring. "We're working on that right now, sir. I'll fill you in on what we have so far…"

Zell sighed. Ah well, the ass-kicking _had _been fun while it lasted.

…

The pilot scanned the depressingly empty ocean once more before his gaze swept across the gages. Beside him, the copilot shook his head. "Not looking good, Sir."

"No, it's not." The pilot grunted as he unstrapped himself and twisted halfway out of his seat. Squall and Rinoa were sitting on a bench at the rear of the helicopter. The couple's eyes were closed, Rinoa's face pressed against Squall's chest, his hand—fingers entwined within her dark locks—rested on her head, his chin lay on her shoulder. Both raised their heads as he shouted to them over the thumping rotors. "This isn't looking good, Folks. We've got thirty minutes of fuel left before we're going to have to ditch."

If he was looking for any reassurance, he was disappointed, as both sorceress and knight nodded solemnly to indicate that they had heard him, but said nothing at all. Moments after he turned around, they returned to their former position.

Re-buckling his harness, he pulled down his helmet mic. "She can lift submarines. You'd think maybe she could lift this damn chopper."

The copilot kept his eyes on the horizon as he answered. "Yeah, but who knows what that would do to _us_." He glanced over at the pilot. "Given the circumstances, I think I'd rather take my chances and go for a swim."

"Rinoa?" A few dark strands of hair fluttered from their resting place against his lips. 

"Yes, Squall?" He felt her head stir beneath his fingers.

"Would you do something for me?"

"Uh-huh." Lifting her face, she rubbed the point on her nose that had been flattened against his chest unconsciously.

"When the helicopter goes down, I want you to go someplace safe." Squall suddenly found a finger placed squarely on his nose. He stared at it, cross-eyed.

Rinoa couldn't help but giggle at her knight's expression. "Un-uh." She shook her head. "You know that I don't know how to take other people with me when I open a porthole, and I know you know." She smiled gently as Squall scratched his head in a manner very reminiscent of a certain Estharian head-of-state. "So since I know you know, I know that you want me to go without you."

The corner of Squall's mouth drew up in a small grimace. "I… uh, know." His hand clasped Rinoa's. "But… if something were to happen… I can't allow it. I have to know that you are safe."

Rinoa drew back mock-reproachfully. "Squall, I just promised that I wouldn't leave you." She frowned. "And now you're asking me to do just that." 

"But… I want—"

"Me to be safe." She finished. "I know, Squall," suddenly, Rinoa dove forward, wrapping him up in an airlessly tight embrace. "I am safe! I am safe with my big strong knight to protect me!" She proceeded to squeeze said knight even harder as she snuggled up to him. "Big… cute… cuddly…"

Somehow, Squall managed to gasp out. "But, what about sharks, eels, jellyfish?"

The pressure lessened as Rinoa peered up at him with large frightened eyes. "Oh no…" She intoned.

For some reason he couldn't fathom, her seriousness had been swept away, Squall could practically feel Rinoa's happiness bubbling over, in fact, he _could_ feel her happiness bubbling over. _Uh-oh._

"EEEK! SHARKS!!" Rinoa screamed. 

A bolt of piercing white lighting arced from the fingertips of an arm thrown out in mock-fright. The helicopter bounced in the sky as a tremendous thunderclap split the heavens.

"AAAAH! EELS!!" Another tremendous explosion of light and noise as lightning blazed from the open door of the chopper.

"AIEEE! JELLYFMMPH!" Now it was Rinoa who found herself wrapped up in a giant hug.

"Okay, okay, point taken." Squall smiled as Rinoa chose to nibble on the collar of his shirt rather than illustrate, again, why she was called a sorceress. The electricity in the cabin vanished and his hair stopped standing on end. Squall shook his head happily. "What's gotten into you?" 

"Magic!" Rinoa chirped. Then, calming, she trailed a finger down his chest. Her head drooped with the motion of her hand. "I'm just tired of being so serious, Squall." She sighed. "Or do you prefer me all weepy and overwhelmed?" Rinoa slumped against him.

She looked up as Squall placed a hand beside her cheek. "Rinoa." Serious as always, she smiled shyly. "I prefer you—whoever you are." 

He began to smile, but was suddenly cut off as she darted forward and kissed him, like lightning. Before Squall realized what had happened, Rinoa was sitting once more. "There." She smiled. "Do you like that?"

"Very much." Was what Squall meant to say—after a long, witless pause—had he not found his lips locked with those of his sorceress once again. "Vmm-mmf."

"Shut up and kiss me." Came the imperious order. 

The knight obeyed happily.

His eyes returning to the windscreen, the pilot spoke. "Man, can you believe those two?" 

"I think my life flashed before my eyes between those lightning bolts." The copilot hands, though firmly wrapped around the control wand, shook slightly.

"You're not kidding." The pilot's eyes fell to the fuel gage. He grunted, jerking a thumb toward the panel. "Wanna get out an piss in the tank? We're flying on nothing but…" The pilot was about to continue, but something on the horizon caught his eye. "Hey, what's that?"

…

"God Dammit!! Tell him to stop shooting!" Turning, Zell cupped his hands around his mouth. "HOLD YOUR FIRE!!" He bellowed, hoping that the few nervous missile operators he had squirreled away amongst the air ducts and rooflines of G-Garden would hear him and not follow the lead of the damned fool who had loosed one of his precious rounds at the attack choppers as they passed high overhead.

The helicopters had appeared on the horizon, moments before. But instead of charging recklessly in at low altitude—as Zell had hoped they would—the pilots had spent the past few minutes circling above the garden, just out of SAM range. Zell gritted his teeth. _Spotting our positions, officers, and anti-air, no doubt._ "How long 'till the cutting teams break through?"

The radio operator conferred briefly with his set. "No idea sir, they've gone through two false ceilings so far, could be anywhere from five minutes to an hour."

Zell grimaced. The news was the same as it had been thirty seconds ago. There was no way they'd be through the ceiling in time, and the crawl spaces they had cut through were only a few inches high—much to small for even a lightly armed paratrooper to squeeze into. No, they were going to have to find some way to stand their ground.

Suddenly, someone shouted. "Here they come!" 

While the rest of what was left of the command staff scattered, Zell stood squinting into the sun. As troopers dodged around him, seeking the nonexistent cover, Zell bared his teeth at the oncoming aircraft. The helicopter pilots had time on their side, and they had used it to take every advantage.

As the sound of the rotor blades grew louder, their pulsating beat was interrupted briefly by the hissing roar of two Surface to Air Missiles as the inexperienced replacement SAM operators loosed their weapons at the choppers. Attracted by the blazing heat of the sun, both IR-guided missiles streaked wide of their targets, falling harmlessly into the sea several miles to the west. Meanwhile, the helicopters raked the SAM positions with volleys from their rocket pods, roaring over the fiery chaos they had created seconds later, cannon firing. Both choppers passed through the rising lead curtain of small-arms fire thrown up by the assault troops like it was nothing more than soft rain. 

Passing the edge of the rooftop, the aircraft wheeled about in preparation for another pass. A finger of white smoke pointed briefly toward one helicopter before it was engulfed in flames as the final shoulder-mounted missile operator found a target. Immediately thereafter, his position erupted in shocks of flashing fire as the two attack choppers held in reserve thrashed in from the west. Both aircraft continued on overhead, and joined the rest on the eastern side of the Garden, pulling back out of range of the paratrooper's guns.

Zell had stood his ground through the brief, but shockingly vicious attack. The surface of the garden was scored by dozens of smoking bullet holes on his left and his right, but the SeeD was miraculously unharmed—just steaming mad. He stood panting, as his staff peered out from behind what little cover they had found—staring at him as if he were crazy. Of course, perhaps it was because Zell had gone a little crazy as the helicopters passed overhead, screaming, shaking his fists at them, and demanding they get 'down here and fight him, the cowards.' 

Wild eyed, Zell stared back at them. _Screw it! We're all dead anyway. _There was no point in trying to hide. The helicopters would eventually get all of them. The attacker's last hope had been swept away in the first airborne assault. Zell didn't need to look twice toward where troops had been frantically cutting away at the garden's roof—right up to the end. _No one needs to see that kind of carnage more than once. _

Time was slowing down for the blond SeeD. _Maybe that's what happens when your time runs out…?_ Even as his brow creased, even as his teeth ground together, a tiny seed of despair worked its way through the fires of his rage. Zell could make out the individual blades of the helicopters' rotors as they turned toward his position again. _I can't believe it's going to end like this! _The attack aircraft were nose down, flying straight at him now. _Come on! I'm a **hero**! Right? _Zell's hands balled into fists, his muscles tightened as he crouched low. _Hero's don't die like this!_ He had no spells left. _Not without seeing **her**again._ No weapons, no armor. Near the nose of the lead helicopter, a malignant star twinkled. Bullets stitched across the decking toward the SeeD. Straining, Zell felt arcs of green fire sparking across his arms, chest, legs. Somehow, he had time for one short jerk of his neck. _Not without seeing you again, Isis!_

The minigun mounted under the nose of the leftmost helicopter was linked, via a high-tech helmet, to the eye movements of the gunner sitting in the front seat of the two-man attack chopper. It jerked suddenly skyward as something caught the man's attention. Above him, the canopy polarized against the brilliant flash of the Meteor Barrett microseconds before shattering. For an instant, the helicopter hung frozen in the sky, discharges of green energy dancing in the gaping hole left in the SeeD's wake. 

Propped on one fist, Zell felt the heat of the explosion through the vest covering his back as he knelt. Pieces of the helicopter rained from the sky as those not still covering their eyes stared incredulously at the kneeling SeeD. 

The three remaining helicopters, having broken off their attack at the unexpected loss, hovered at a safe distance, analyzing the situation, and trying to determine what had happened.

Zell continued to kneel, exhausted. Not a sound was heard from the paratroopers.

At last, the SeeD felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sir, you've got to get under cover!"

Wearily, Zell raised his head. Sure enough, the helicopters were lining up for another attack run. _It was a good attempt._ He shook his head. "No."

The hand was now tugging at him. "Come on! We'll die out here!"

Zell pulled away. "No! I'll face it!" _I'll face my death if I have to._

The attack aircraft were coming in much faster this time. Zell imagined he could see the pilots centering their sights on him. The soldier had given up on him, and run for cover. The SeeD straightened, raising his fist at the oncoming machines. _I'm no chicken-wuss!_

The lead helicopter ceased to be. In its place, a ballooning sphere of Ultima turned the blinding yellow sun a dim shade of green. Zell's jaw dropped.

"That was my last one!" Squall shouted as he swung himself back inside the cargo bay. Clinging to the mounting bracket of the machine gun as the helicopter wheeled in front of the two hostile aircraft, Squall managed to pull back the slide and chamber the first round of the weapon's single band of ammunition. 

"Hold on folks! We're about to take fire!" The co-pilot was shouting over his shoulder even as the knight centered his gun sight on the nearest helicopter and squeezed the trigger. 

The weapon fired once, then fell silent. "Damn! It's jammed!" Pointing directly toward the open door of the Estharian naval helicopter, the miniguns of the Galbadian attack choppers began to spin. "Rinoa! Duck!" Squall struggled valiantly to eject the jammed round.

Rolling her eyes, Rinoa placed a hand to her cheek in mock-horror. "Oh no!" She raised her other hand. "Whatever…" her fingers snapped. 

The crews of the Galbadian helicopters suddenly disappeared.

"…shall…" another snap.

The defenders of G-Garden vanished.

"…we do?" She smiled, and lowered her arm. 

Both Galbadian aircraft plummeted from the sky. 

Private First Class Rodger B. James was sitting in an endless field of daffodils. He was sitting because there didn't seem to be much else to do. As to why he was in a field of flowers; he had no idea. Private James also didn't know how he had gotten here, however, he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that he might be dead. 

It made sense, in a strange sort of way. They had, after all, just learned that their air support had arrived and was cleaning the invaders from the top floors of the garden. Rodger shrugged to himself _Well, that's when they said it would happen. When everything seems to be going perfectly, you let down your guard, and then, WHAM, you're dead._ He looked around. At least his surroundings looked promising; no fire and brimstone. 

Something soft brushed his hand. The Private looked down. A little fuzzy white bunny was nuzzling silently at his hand. A bemused expression flitted across the Galbadian's face. _This isn't quite how I imagined it would be… but, what the heck…_ He smiled and patted the bunny. The furry rodent looked up at him with little beady pink eyes. "You know, you're kind of cute." Abruptly, the rabbit hopped onto his arm. "Hey now, don't climb on me." The soldier admonished the little fuzzy animal. He shook his arm gently, trying to dislodge the bunny. It held fast. Private James noticed another little rabbit peering from between the stems of the daisies. _Uh-oh…_

Fifteen minutes later, a bunny-covered Private Rodger B. James located, what he assumed to be, the rest of his squad. Another rabbit-inundated man—looking like nothing so much as a giant white cotton ball shouted to him as he approached. "Name and rank, soldier!"

Private James was about to answer, but the sight of a dozen-odd fluffy forms all lurching about—in total disarray—changed his mind. "Ah, what's the use?" His voice was muffled by the warm, happy rodents nuzzling him. Rather than salute and report, he plopped down, and proceeded to pat the bunnies. 

Rinoa giggled. "Hmm… maybe not." She snapped her fingers a third time.

Several hundred miles south of the D-District prison, the dunes of the great Shaagen Desert terminate abruptly in a line of flat, wet sand as the land gives way to ocean. It was along this beach, that a half-dozen squads of Galbadian soldiers—assigned to defend G-Garden—appeared in a flash of light, confused but completely rodent-free.

"You're sure you're okay?" Concerned, awkward, and endearing all at once, Squall hovered around Rinoa as she alighted from the helicopter. 

Feeling the touch of his gloveless hands—grip as light as that which one would use to handle fine china—as he helped her down from the aircraft, Rinoa patted his hand. "I'm fine, Squall. It was easy."

Despite her words, the knight was careful to examine his sorceress for any signs that her magic had harmed or drained her. He found none. "Still, don't you think you should…"

But Rinoa's attention had already been caught by something else. "Zell!" She shrieked happily, dashing out from under the still-rotating blades of the helicopter to catch the blond SeeD up in a friendly hug. 

"Hey Rinoa, huagh!" Suddenly Zell found himself lifted off his feet. "Woa! You guys happy to see me?"

"You can't imagine!" Rinoa chattered. "I'm just happy to see someone other than Mr. Gloom and Doom." 

Squall frowned to himself as he trotted over. _Have I been acting a little too much like a mother hen? Do I need to lighten up a little bit?_

He hid a small smile as Rinoa plopped the martial artist down in front of him and announced: "Look, Squall: Zell."

"I can see that." The knight placed his hands on his hips. 

"Heyah, Squall. Good to see you." Forgetting whom he was addressing, Zell stuck out a hand. 

Squall shrugged and shook it. "Yeah. You too, Zell."

The SeeD's eyebrows shot up as he pulled his arm back and stared at the hand. "Wow, hey, no kidding."

…

The light beams from the holographic projection table ghosted in and out of view as curls of heavy smoke drifted across the table. The "War Room"—buried deep below Three Kings Mountain had been darkened in order to give the high-ranking military officers and governmental leaders a sharper-definition planning map. Normally, smoking was not allowed in any of the twenty underground levels of Estharian Strategic Command, however, under the circumstances, certain protocols were being forgone. Most of the personnel present had been running on nothing but coffee and cigarettes for the past forty-eight hours, and to deny them either was to risk mutiny.

The bitter sandpaper bite of the smoke irritated the back of Kiros's throat, but his mind was not on such trivial details at the moment. "How sure are we of that line?" 

The five-star general he addressed pressed a small button on a remote control wand. Before them, a section of the holographic map flared a bit brighter as an ethereal wall of flashing yellow light appeared, along with a half-dozen dotted red lines—each arcing around a common trajectory, all ending over the capitol of Esthar. "There's no way to be certain, Sir." The general shook his head. "We're tracking a large low pressure zone to the west of the region. If it turns north, that line could be pushed as far as seventy or eighty miles further out." Around the smoky room, dozens of officers were using remote controls, similar to the general's, to position red and blue icons—denoting military forces—across the world map. "We'll have, at best, half a day's notice on its final position." The general pressed another button on the wand as he chewed unconsciously on the end of his long-dead cigar. A series of light blue lines appeared on the navy surface of the hologram that denoted water. "As it stands now, the Seraphim will be within range of the target for a maximum of four hours before it crosses into the danger zone." A small red pyramid appeared, its sharpest point directed at a flashing green dot traveling along one of the blue lines. 

Kiros coughed slightly and leaned forward. "And the minimum?"

The general folded his arms and scowled. "Twenty minutes—unless she has a break down."

Kiros's raised his eyebrows in the dimness. "And if that happens?"

The general stepped back to give a staff member a bit more room as he adjusted the projected ground track of a few naval vessels. "None of the other modified frigates can reach the area in time." 

"Then, we had better pray that doesn't—."

Just then, a large steel door at the far end of the room slid open. "Kiros!!" Light from the corridor outside spilling around him, Laguna stormed into the room. "What are you doing to my country!?" Staff members scattered at the President's approach. Like a vengeful god, the President of Esthar descended upon his Prime Minister—until he failed to notice the step down to Kiros's end of the split-level room. "Esthar's in an uproar! Bottoms are falling out of all the markets! This time you've gone—whoop!" The President stumbled, nearly recovered, and then fell flat on his face.

Kiros offered a dispassionate hand.

Laguna took it, and levered himself back to his feet. "Why, in God's name, did you decide to leak this to the public?!" Laguna brushed himself off, not perturbed in the least by his fall. "I just came from the naval air station, there's riots! Riots, man! The people are demanding—well, they don't even know what they're demanding, but we haven't had riots since…" Laguna trailed off under the steady stare of his long-time friend.

"Are you finished?" The dark man folded his arms.

Laguna sighed. Someday he would shake his imperturbable colleague, but not today. "No, but go ahead."

Kiros nodded. "Very well then. General, if I may?" The general nodded, handing his control wand over to the Estharian Minister. "As you know, Laguna, the Lunatic Pandora left it's mooring station in the Desert District of Galbadia several days ago." Kiros paused long enough for Laguna to nod. "As of…" He checked his watch. "…fifty-two hours ago, any doubt that the Pandora was headed for Esthar was erased." Something occurred to Kiros. "Oh, by the way, how did your meeting with Squall go?"

Laguna rubbed his jaw. "He hit me."

Kiros smiled. "Unsurprising." He pressed a button, the half-dozen lines terminating over Esthar began blinking. "We believe the Pandora will follow one of these routes, and be escorted by a strong naval force until it makes landfall over the western wastelands." 

Laguna spread his hands. "Yeah, then it parks over Esthar and kills us all. Right, I figured all this out already, Kiros. Can we get to the crazy scheme part now?" 

But Kiros was not to be swayed from his path. "The First and Second carrier groups are moving in to intercept the Galbadian fleet while it is still in international waters. It is unlikely, however, that they will be able to impede the progress of the Pandora." The Estharian Minister pressed another button on the remote, and a demonstration of the encounter between Estharian and Galbadian forces played out, the blue icons winking out with depressing speed while a large green box floating over the map proceeded directly toward Esthar. "The battle will, however, serve to deprive the Lunatic Pandora of its escort for a short time."

Laguna twirled a finger in the air. "Yay, us. Kiros, don't you think we should perhaps concentrate on defeating the hordes of monsters that are going to fall on our collective heads instead of sinking a few Galbadian ships?"

Kiros shook his head. "No, because while the Lunatic Pandora is deprived of its escort, we are going to destroy it." Abruptly, the green box winked out several hundred miles from Esthar's coastline.

The president rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. Just like that." He mimed pressing a button with his thumb. "Boop! And the Lunatic Pandora is no more." He patted his comrade on the back. "Great plan."

Kiros nodded. "It is."

"Alright, so can we get serious, and talk about damage control now?" Laguna turned away from the strategic map as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. "Oh, hey Ward. So, can I get you to agree with me for once?" He jerked his thumb at Kiros. "Don't you think our friend has finally gone around the bend?"

Ward shook his head. "Laguna, I'd appreciate it if you would come with me for a moment." Kiros placed his hand on the President's other shoulder.

"But, guys… we need to plan…" Laguna threw up his hands. "Forget it." He allowed himself to be marched out of the room by his two friends. "You know, sometimes, I wonder just who really is in charge of this government." 

Kiros and Ward exchanged glances.

"So you're her? You're Odine's Protégé?" Laguna wasted no time in walking around the immaculately clean table and inspecting the tall woman with the lab coat. "Oooh. Very interesting! Vat are you doing here? Are you being an eemportant reezercher?" 

Laguna laughed as the young woman sighed. "Yeah, I get that a lot." She smiled good-naturedly. 

The President of Esthar immediately liked the young scientist. "Laguna Loire." He stuck out a hand.

The woman smiled. "Linda Lowery." Her grip was surprisingly strong. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. President." 

Acting quickly, not giving Laguna any chance to get his foot into his mouth, Kiros spoke up. "Miss. Lowery, I wish there was time for small talk before getting into more serious matters, but we are very pressed for time."

All business in the blink of an eye, Linda nodded. "Of course. Gentlemen, if you'll follow me…" She turned without further preamble and lead the heads of the Estharian government out of the spotless white-tiled laboratory.

Laguna had failed to pay attention to how many floors they had risen in the large central elevator of Esthar Strategic Command, but the large rolling metal door set into the far wall of the next—still spotlessly clean—hangar-like room that they entered gave the impression of being on or near the surface levels of the base. However, it was not the garage's doors that caught Laguna's attention, but rather the large, bulbous aircraft sitting—nose pointing toward them—on the smooth concrete floor. 

"**This** is our secret weapon?" Laguna blinked, disappointed. "Aw man! I was expecting some sort of killer-mega-death-ray, or some sort of transforming flying super-robot." He paused, totally oblivious to whatever impact his words were having on the scientist who had spent most of her life up to this point, devising the system that now rested in front of them. "But this _thing_… it looks sort of like a bumblebee." The president proceeded to make a quick inspection. "It doesn't even have any guns!" 

To her credit, Linda kept silent, waiting for Laguna to finish. When, at last, he ran out of steam, she began her explanation. "It doesn't have any guns, Mr. President, because it is only the bullet." 

Laguna's eyes widened. "Ohhh…" He turned back to look at the large aircraft again. "Cooooool…" Laguna paused. "So where's the gun?"

Kiros put a hand over his face. 

"Mr. President, I think you're missing the point. What you see here is only the delivery system. It's what is inside that really counts." With these words, Miss. Lowery stepped over the smooth skin of the aircraft and twisted a recessed handle. An access hatch slid back on hydraulic mounts. She motioned to the dark opening. "Have a look."

Laguna obliged her by stepping over, and sticking his head through the hatch. A moment later, he ducked out. "Um… I see lots of wires and lights and stuff…" He scratched his head. "But… ah, I still don't know where the gun is."

Kiros made a choked noise. Ward placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. President. This is a missile. What you just saw inside of it is a bomb." Linda's voice was quiet and flat. Her eyes didn't seem to quite focus on anything in particular. It was almost like she was talking to herself. "This is a kind of weapon the world has never seen before." She nodded to no one in particular. "Dr. Odine was a brilliant scientist, and had great ideas, but his inventions always involved one factor that made them inferior; people. I have eliminated this problem." She continued in an even monotone. "I have designed a weapon more powerful than any person, than any magic. I have designed a system which harnesses the same powers Hyne herself must have used to create this world…"

Throughout the scientist's speech, Laguna had been slowly backing away. "Ohh-kay…" He raised his hands. 

Suddenly, Linda's eyes snapped back into focus. Her voice became a bit more animated. "Anyway, this should be effective in stopping the Lunatic Pandora. It is a three-step, remote-trigger, uranium CCM sub-atomic fission, plutonium gun with spherical reflectors and shaped charge plastique explosives." 

Laguna's eyes became crossed. "Uh… Newtonian gun?" 

Dr. Lowery shook her head. "It is an fissioning high-density metal device. I call it; 'the Atomic Bomb.'" 

…

The guywires stretched back from the bow of Galbadia Garden hummed in the wind created by the giant ship's passage through the night. The sky overhead was clouded and starless, the sea below mirrored its inky blackness. The warm salt air that washed over the promenade carried with it the smell of electricity and the low hum of the garden's giant engines. 

The blackout conditions prevailed across the ship as it sailed eastward under maximum power, and not a light shown all across the upper decks. _As if anyone could miss the giant glowing disc we're riding on._ Squall's lips tightened as he tested the balance of the sword. No, if anyone wanted to find the garden, they would not have a hard time spotting the telltale flare of its drives. Squall lunged forward, leading with the tip of the sword. 

It was lighter and a good deal thinner than his gunblade, but its length was comparable. Squall pirouetted, bringing the weapon up short of a backhanded swipe. Whirling the sword over his head, he brought it down on the tiles of the promenade, striking sparks from the decking. He grimaced. It was lighter, yes. His movements were much faster, true. But this was not his weapon, it wouldn't feel right in a real fight.

Still, the knight had no choice. So, silhouetted by the hellish glow reflected off the water hundreds of feet below, he practiced with the unfamiliar weapon. As always, he found it provided no relief from the problems he had yet to face.

Not sixty feet from the knight sat the battered variable-pitch propeller aircraft that had brought General Caraway to the garden. The aircraft was tied down and had a tarpaulin thrown over it as protection against the elements. From under the tarp, came the occasional strobing of electric blue light as welders, machinists, and mechanics worked feverishly to put the aircraft back together again.

It had not been a pretty sight when the plane had come in. Both engines trailing smoke, the transport had nearly plunged into the ocean, going into a spin as the pilot lost control on approach to the deck. Only a last-second save by the sorceress had prevented the catastrophic crash. Even so, the aircraft had caught fire once down, and it had taken a half-dozen soldiers with extinguishers to subdue the flames. A stream of dirty oil seeped from under the improvised shelter, winding toward the edge of the deck. 

Parrying an imaginary blow, Squall frowned. The general had insisted—and the mechanics had reluctantly agreed—that the aircraft could be repaired and ready to fly by tomorrow morning. In the mean time, Rinoa and he had gone somewhere to talk. Squall wondered if he should go looking for them. _Come on, Squall. Think, what are you going to do; just walk in on a tearful reunion and stand there glowering._ He struck out at thin air with the dark blade. _No, I can't think of any place I'd rather not be._ Still… he checked his wrist chronometer. How long had it been since he had seen her?_ _

She wasn't going to cry. She promised herself she wouldn't break down. Feeling the hand of her knight on her shoulder, Rinoa lowered her hand as a platoon of paratroopers dashed forward to extinguish the flames engulfing the transport's left engine. The aircraft was a two-man reconnaissance turboprop. Pilot and observer sat atop the front of the fuselage, covered by a Plexiglas canopy. Through the clear dome, the sorceress could make out movement as the passenger unbuckled his harnesses. Rinoa fought down the lump in her throat as the cockpit hatches opened, and a man descended the footholds sunken into the side of the aircraft. 

The general doffed his helmet, dropping it into the hands of a nearby soldier, then turned and began walking toward the couple standing a few feet away. For a second, he allowed himself to feel the goosebumps rising on his skin as he made eye contact with her, his daughter, safe once again. Then, General Richard Caraway affixed his eyes on a point just over her shoulder, set his mouth in a thin stern line, and strode purposefully toward her.Though he wished with all his heart for another way, this was how he had learned he must deal with his daughter. Though they were only a few paces apart, the distance remaining between them felt unbreachable. Right up to the very second when she ran to him.

She wasn't going to cry, but she couldn't bear to see him like that any longer. "Daddy!" For once, not petulant, not angry, not exasperated or misunderstood. 

At his daughter's cry, he dared to meet her eyes again. "Rinoa?" Then her arms were around his neck. She had never been shy about letting him see her feelings, but to see tears sparkling in her eyes—aching reminders of her mother's, when she was angry, arguing with him—had always made him uncomfortable. He looked away now. 

She wasn't going to cry—she wasn't! "Oh, daddy, I'm so sorry! I never knew! I never knew." 

Frightened, surprised, he dared to lay his hand upon her head. Could it be? "It's okay. It's going to be okay." Was his Rinny truly back?

She pushed away from him slightly. Eyes glistening, she tried to look reproachful, but failed. "You never told me. You never told me about mom. I didn't know because…" She ignored the trails of warmth down her cheeks; she wasn't going to cry. "…you never told me what happened."

Richard Caraway couldn't imagine what he said to that. He couldn't fathom what engendered the immediate forgiveness in his daughter's eyes. He could barely breath. _My little girl. I'm so proud of you._ He must have been saying something, his lips were moving, but the general was lost in his own thoughts._ I was always so proud of you, Rinny—the thorn in Galbadia's side you made timber; how passionately you cared for my people; how strong you were for them— but I could never tell you. _He barely heard Rinoa chastising him gently even as she hugged him. _And now, you're almost grown up. I can't imagine your kind of bravery, to come here after all that's happened._

He had saluted to, and then waved Squall off. The boy had looked like he would have rather been anywhere else rather than near the scene Rinoa was busily making. Satisfied, by his sorceress's behavior, that the general was indeed the genuine article, Squall had fled. Immediately thereafter, the general had managed to slip a heartfelt word of thanks to Zell—the SeeD he had heard had been so instrumental to his force's success in capturing the garden—before being dragged off by Rinoa. 

"Alright, now we're going to talk!" Her tone was mock-serious, with just a hint of a quaver. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, daddy!"

The dimness of the lights of the mess hall did nothing to hide the disaster spread across seven feet of counter and two stoves. Wrappers, grease, half-used sticks of butter, and bits of ingredients littered the area. It appeared as though someone had set off a grenade made of food. Sauces and flour were splattered everywhere, and an electric burner still ticked and sizzled as it boiled away the bits of carrot and chicken that had spilled on it.

General Caraway unwrapped the tinfoil-enshrouded concoction that had been plopped down in front of him by his daughter with more than a little trepidation. 

"Of course, Watts is usually the one who makes it, but I've watched him enough times to figure out how to do it." Rinoa was keeping up the constant trivial chatter that her father had learned she used when trying to skirt issues of real importance. Abruptly, her light tone shifted. "But, you already knew that…" She watched her father take a bite. "So, what do you think?"

It was awful! "It's wonderful!" Richard Caraway tried not to choke as he swallowed. "It's a bit hot still." He gently pushed the plate aside as if to let it cool down. It had been ice-cold. He paused, there was so much to say, he was unsure of where to begin. "Rinny, I…"

"I'm going to kill him, daddy." Seated next to him, she stared at the table.

Her father was shocked by her words. "What?" 

"Matchgar. He's not responsible for all this, but he deserves to die anyway." Rinoa's voice was cold, detached. It made her father shiver.

He opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say. A reflexive thought. _It's too dangerous._

Rinoa shook her head."Not for me, daddy. Not anymore." She looked up, the hardness that had crept into his daughter's eyes gave him pause. "I'm going to kill Matchgar." She repeated. "I'm going to stop the Lunatic Pandora. Then, I'm going to find out who is behind all of this." 

_Rinoa, you can't. You're only one person. You're only a little girl._ "But, Rinoa, you're only…" He began.

"I'm only your daughter, daddy. I'm only a sorceress." Rinoa looked away before her eyes softened. "I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of being deceived." She felt a lump growing in her throat. "I'm tired of being afraid, and I'm tired of not being able to help."

Richard Caraway was about to argue, but he could feel the razor edge that the conversation balanced on—the wrong thing said here, and she might leave him. The defiant, headstrong little girl would replace his real daughter again, and that thought gave him pause. At length, he finally nodded. Then he spoke. "Rinoa." He placed a calloused hand over her fist, balled and pressing into the table. "I'm sorry."

"About mom?" Rinoa allowed him to change the subject.

"About not telling you." 

Rinoa let out a small breath. "It's okay, I… I found out about everything." She swallowed, finding her next words difficult to say. "I know you loved her. I know you did it because… I guess, you love me too."

"I do, Rinoa. I don't know if either of you ever realized…" The memory of Julia—the same memory that haunted his nights, his empty bed—tightened Richard's jaw. He had to look away for a moment. Rinoa remained silent, allowing him the few moments he needed. At last, Caraway continued. "Rinoa, I'm not sure you know how fortunate I count myself to be your father." He turned his head back. "But, I want to make sure you know now, before I go, just how proud I am of you." So, he proceeded to tell her. Trying very, very hard to keep his voice from shaking, general Richard Caraway told his daughter of the admiration he had felt—locked away in his study—after every confrontation. He told her about how his chest had swelled in secret at every report of the destruction caused by the Forest Owls, even as he was silent about the way his heart had shrunk in fear for her safety. As he spoke, he found that Rinoa's hand had unclenched, and occasionally gave little squeezes, to push the tears out of the corners of his eyes.

Squall squirmed. Just seeing anyone put into a position like that; having to hear a confessional from your **parent**. He gritted his teeth in the darkness behind the door to the mess. Just thinking about his own _elder_ made him ill. Having to listen to Laguna rant on like Caraway was doing would have been unbearable. _Still…_ As he peered into the light, his expression softened. _It's good to see them getting over their differences._

Finally, Caraway seemed to run out of steam. The tears in both their eyes made Squall turn away. As he watched father and daughter embrace from the corner of his eye, Squall felt the slightest touch of… _what?_ regret. _I wonder where he is right now?_

…

"I'm sorry, Mr. President. That's all the information we have." The man pointed to the shaded area of the map on his computer screen as Laguna peeked at it from over his shoulder.

"**Anywhere** in that area?" Laguna scratched his head. "But, but, that's all ocean!"

The man—actually, the Deputy Home Guard Search and Rescue Director—nodded. "With the data we received from the Naso in her last broadcast before she went down we've calculated that Mr. Leonhart's helicopter could not have reached the southern tip of the Galbadian continent." He pressed a few keys on the computer. "Now, there's no way to confirm it. Even if we could get spy planes over the area, the chances of actually spotting the helicopter crew, life rafts, or anything in a random search photo shoot are next to none." He tapped a few more keys. "In fact, there's even a fair chance that…" He paused, pensive.

Patient as always, Laguna prompted him. "What?" 

"Well, I suppose it's possible that Mr. Leonhart's helicopter might have been able to intercept the Lunatic Pandora as it passed through this area." The deputy director frowned. "In fact, it's fairly likely. I'd give it 50/50 odds."

Laguna's brow furrowed.

"Well, old friend, that puts you in a bit of a difficult position." Kiros folded his arms. 

"Me? It puts all of us in a difficult position." Laguna was pacing the length of the carpet laid down between the rows of acceleration couches.

Ward, reclining in one of the Ragnarok's chairs—both arms raised to accommodate his bulk—shook his head.

The dark-skinned minister looked over at the large man, nodding agreement. "No, Laguna. This one will have to be up to you. Neither Ward nor I make this decision for you, it's not our place."

The president stopped his pacing for a moment and dropped into a nearby chair. He placed his chin in his hands. From outside, the noise of roaring pumps and shouted orders made its way through the reinforced windows of the spacecraft. The last component tests from a new upgrade to the high-tech vehicle were being rushed to completion even as an electronic command suite was being installed. The aerospace plane would act as the command post and major relay station for the naval action which would begin when the Lunatic Pandora and it's escorts encountered the Estharian fleet and air force. The armed forces would do their best to ensure that the devastating surprise attack of the last Pandora visit would not be repeated. _And, up until now, I was pretty sure we could stop it…_ Laguna rubbed the back of his neck. _I thought our little ace-in-the-hole might actually work. But if Squall's on board…_

"Mr. President." Kiros's tone was formal. "You do have other options." He waved a hand northward. "The Balamb SeeD is standing by. They report that they are ready to assist us in disabling the Pandora. If enough transports got through—."

Laguna's hand was now running through his hair. "Tell me again, Kiros, what the casualty projections were for a squadron of transports to approach the Pandora." 

The man's eyes dropped. "High." He said quietly. "But, Laguna, he is _your_ _son_."

Laguna drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "I know that, Kiros. I know."

"So, old friend. What are you going to do?" Kiros stood.

Laguna looked down at his hands. Underfoot, the deck shook as one of the spacecraft's giant engines began throttling up for a performance check. He shook his head. "I have no idea."

Kiros's eyes hardened a touch. "Laguna, when the time comes, that had better change."

…

"General Caraway, Sir!" Both men looked toward the door of the impromptu meeting room as the nervous airman interrupted their hushed conference. "In another twenty minutes, this thing's gonna move out of range of Stony Field."

The general waved him off. "Thank you, Colonel. Go ahead and start the engines, I'll be up in a moment." He turned back to the young knight. "There's no way you can talk her out of it?"

Squall shook his head for the tenth time. "Sir, she's your daughter. You should know the answer to that question." The fluorescent lights of the small classroom buzzed in the silence as the general's gaze became unfocused. 

The former SeeD gave him a moment to think. Undoubtedly, the general was reviewing—in his mind—the distribution of those Galbadian units still remaining loyal to him. 

Currently, the southern provinces were engaged in a vicious civil war with the Galbadian troops swearing allegiance to the newly-elected President Matchgar as they attempted to break away from the Galbadian state. Caraway had—at the request of the Council of Independent Southern States; a temporary governing body thrown together after 11 of the 13 states south of the Central Range had simultaneously declared their independence—assumed command of the CISS forces. Currently, CISS troops were engaged in major holding actions in the passes of the Central Range's foothills and at the three major crossings of the Red River as they fought to keep Galbadian troops from breaking out into the Santacroce plains. 

Shortly after the election of Delphi Matchgar, two more Galbadian republics in the northwest had declared independence and requested assistance. Something similar to a full division of CISS troops—still wearing their old Galbadian uniforms, so new was the coalition they fought for—was attempting to break through a siege line, laid down by Galbadian reserves, between the CISS and the two new independent states. 

Galbadia had been forced to divert a good bulk of its invasion force away from Timber to deal with the new threat to their South and West. The IRT had managed to repulse the remaining invaders and was fighting tooth-and-nail to reclaim the land lost in the opening stages of the conflict. Though confusion was the order of the month for CISS troop brigades, as many soldiers and machines as were available had been scraped from the bottom of the local militia reserves and sent to Timber. 

General Caraway was supposed to arrive in the Independent Republic of Timber shortly before the CISS reinforcements. The southern states had formulated a plan with the IRT to use Timber as a staging area for a major offensive on Deling itself. Acting Prime Minister, Ferrin Sosare, herself had requested the general's assistance in the operation. To do so, meant that Caraway would have to leave Galbadia Garden—still steaming full speed after the Lunatic Pandora—in the next few minutes.

At length, he shook his head. "We can't give you any support, Squall. I don't know what good this garden is going to do against that thing."

Squall, of course, had already known. "We have to try, Sir. Your daughter insists."

"You don't want to stop the Pandora?" The general raised an eyebrow at the knight's tone. 

Squall was stiff. "This operation puts the sorceress at too much risk." He stared straight ahead. "If it was my choice, I'd let Eshtar deal with it." _I really don't know what Rinoa's planning to do. That thing is just so damn **big**!_

Caraway's brow furrowed. "And your father? They didn't fare so well last time." _Finding out that this mercenary was the son of President Loire. Now there was a surprise._

Squall's tone was wooden. "It puts the sorceress at too much risk." He repeated.

The general was not sure how to react. He scrutinized the iron-faced knight. At last, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I know you… care for her, Mr. Leonhart." 

Under his emotionless exterior, Squall was doing his best not to recoil in disgust. _Christ! Just go already! There's nothing you can say to make this situation normal. I don't care what's happened in the past, you can't just show up like this and do the whole "father thing". You have no idea who she is anymore. You have no idea who I am. God damn! What is it with you people?_

Unaware of Squall's anger, the general continued to talk. "I love my daughter more than you can know, Squall." Caraway leveled his gaze at the young man. "You take good care of her." 

Squall stared right back at the older man. "I will, Sir." _If he doesn't leave now, I'm either going to have to kill him or myself._

Caraway blinked, then he nodded—almost sadly. "I know you will." The words were almost natural, almost not forced and strained. _You'd damn well better._ At last, the man who couldn't belong left. 

Squall stood, alone, in the empty gutted classroom until he heard the sound of the general's transport fade into nothingness. At length, his fists unballed and his jaw unlocked.

_Ooh, he looks pretty grim._ Hair whipping around her face from the downwash of the tilt-rotor aircraft, Rinoa ran over to greet her father as he ascended onto the open deck of the garden's roof. _Well, that's what talking to Squall will get you. _She smiled to herself as she hugged him. "I love you, Daddy!" She had to shout over the noise of the engines, but the effort was well worth it, for Richard Caraway immediately brightened. 

"I love you too, Rinny." He looked down at her.

"Daddy…" _Please don't go. Please don't be sad and alone any more. _"…be careful." _I want to see you again. I want you to be happy again, like you were when mom was still alive._ Rinoa blinked a few times.

Caraway swallowed. "I will, Rinoa." _Oh, my daughter, there's so many things I forgot to tell you. There's so little time to let you know…_ "Please," _You've changed so much, please stop for a little while, and let me catch up._ "let Squall protect you."

"General! We need to lift off, now!"

"Dad," _I want you to see it all. I want you to be there when I marry him, daddy. I want you to give me away, I want you to get hugged by everybody and get to know everybody, and get to know him, and do all the father-in-law, son-in-law stuff and I want you to keep being proud of me and…_ She couldn't keep it up, she just couldn't. There was not time to say any of it, but it was the most important thing in the world and needed to be said. Rinoa began to cry. 

"General!"

Caraway hugged his daughter once more. "I know, Rinny. I know." His own eyes were burning. He swallowed again as he wiped away one of her tears. "I love you."

Rinoa just nodded, unable to speak as he let her go. _Watch me, daddy! Watch me be brave. Watch me be strong._ She waved to him as the canopy closed over his head. There was a great wind and noise as the plane's wheels left the ground. Rinoa ran, pacing the aircraft as it slowly slipped clear of the Garden's decking. She caught herself up short at the edge of the roofline, waving madly, waving as hard as she felt like sobbing, waving until the transport was just an invisible speck.

She was still staring out at the empty ocean and he couldn't feel her. He could not tell what she was thinking. At long last, Squall started forward. 

Rinoa did not turn as he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She was a statue; marble, granite, and two salty trails where the wind had dried her tears.

"He'll come back, Rinoa." Squall's voice was as quiet as the hum of the garden's great engines.

As gradual as a glacier, Rinoa slowly leaned against her knight. "I know, Squall." She swallowed with a dry mouth. "But, I'm afraid it might be too late when he does."

Squall shifted his hand down to her waist as she allowed him to support her. "To late?"

The feeling was back. She was drained again. _I should be happy. I got to tell him. He knows now. He should be happy too._ "Bad things are coming, Squall. Terrible things." She sighed sadly. "I can feel them."

His back hardened as bunched muscle drew together. "I will protect you."

Rinoa lifted her face as she felt his arms tighten. She looked into his eyes without saying a word.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cool breeze ran down Squall's spine. _I know I can protect you, Rinoa. I **must **be able to._ He didn't look away. He wanted her to see his confidence, wanted her to take comfort in it.

At last she spoke. "I know you will, Squall." But the sorceress was not sure.

Squall could sense her uncertainty. "Rinoa, what is it?" His brow furrowed. 

She placed a hand on his chest as she turned into his arms. "Squall, please, don't worry. It's not you." Reluctantly, he released her as she backed away. "I just… I just need a little time alone." 

"Okay." He frowned slightly. "It's okay, Rinoa." His lips pressed together as he nodded.

"I'm sorry." She was backing away from him, as if afraid to turn around.

_Can't you feel me, my love? Can't you tell that it really is okay? Or, do I need to let you know?_ The smile was forced, but it wasn't too bad. "I'll be alright. I think I can handle being alone for a few minutes." Squall did his best to lighten his tone.

Rinoa smiled gratefully. "I'll be back." At last, she managed to turn away. 

"I'll be here." Squall called after her, but she was already gone. 

The upper deck had cleared. Squall was alone again. "I'll be here waiting for you." He whispered into the wind.

…

"Man! No news really is good news!" Laguna exclaimed.

"Actually, Mr. President, this might not be so bad." Kiros remained seated as Laguna began pacing once more. "We're not so sure Galbadia Garden is under the control of our enemies.

Laguna stopped for a moment, and turned to face his chief advisor and close friend. "Huh? What do you mean?"

The cabinet member shrugged. "Well, Laguna, we've had intermittent contact with the rebel Galbadian provinces." He folded his arms. "Last we heard, they were mounting a major operation to seize control of the garden."

"Damn it! Nobody told me!" The president smacked a fist into his palm in frustration. "I'm the damn president, you should tell me these things!" 

Kiros sighed. "I did tell you, Laguna. Twice."

"Well…" the former soldier's tone was petulant. "You ought to tell me when I'm listening, then!" 

The elderly warrior rolled his eyes. "And when, pray tell, might that be?"

Somehow, the president managed to return to the subject at hand. "So, it's good that CISS is in charge of G-Garden why, again?"

Kiros frowned. "Of course, we've had no word on whether they were successful, so this is all conjecture, but it's possible that they are here to help." 

An idea hit Laguna so hard it made him hiccup. "H-hey! Wait a minute! Hold on!" He put a hand to his head. "Just a second! Ohh… DAMN!" He stomped a foot. "Lost it."

Kiros did his best to keep from gritting his teeth. "Were you, perhaps going to ask if—"

"Hey! Wait!" Laguna held up a hand. "What if… um…" His mind blanked again. "Crap."

"You want to know if your damn son could be on board G-Garden, Laguna!" Kiros very nearly shouted. 

"Wow! That's it!" Laguna snapped his fingers. 

_Right now, right now is the time to ask him about this. Is he just playing stupid? _Kiros's brows knit together. _I've seen you Laguna, I've seen you serious. I've seen you do great things and come up with brilliant ideas. You're not who you pretend to be. But, why the hell do you keep it up around us? You've been this way all your life, but I know it's just not you! What is going on, Laguna?_ He did not voice his thoughts. "I've already sent an inquiry to them, but we've received no response so far. They've got problems of their own, and nobody seems to know quite exactly what is going on over there." _Damn it! What is he doing now?_ "Laguna!"

The puffy cotton ball clouds vanished along the line between sea and land, thirty-thousand feet below. Closing his eyes, Laguna could feel the biting cold seeping in through the large window even as the warmth of the sun prickled over his scalp. The air rushing around the nose of the Ragnarok was so clear. _It's so deceptive. It looks so calm, like a crystal pool, but it's really racing past at unimaginable speeds._ Laguna looked back over his shoulder at Kiros's exclamation. "Don't worry, old friend, I'm listening." His voice was quiet, but it still carried the lie over the throb of the spacecraft's giant engines; Laguna wasn't listening at all. He was too busy gazing out at the peaceful scenery below. _It won't be that way much longer… I'm going to have to make a decision sooner or later._ The President's chest rose and fell on the wings of a sigh. _Squall, where are you?_

…

"I can't go on, Xu. It's up to you now." The headmaster's elbows were propped on the old wooden desk. His chin rested in his hands.

She shook her head. "No, headmaster. You can't do this to us." She leveled an unblinking stare at the huddled old man on the other side of the desk. "Not now. The garden can't take the strain." She waved an arm toward the plywood that had been slapped over the gaping hole in the window behind Cid's desk. "After all these kids have been through, you can't just walk out on them."

The headmaster closed his eyes. "You're wrong Xu. I can do just that."

"Sir, no. I've been down there." She gestured to the lift. "I've heard them talk." She paused a moment to choke out a humorless laugh. "It's funny, you know. They don't talk about the G-Garden attack, they don't grieve over friends who lost their lives in the Galbadian invasion, all they talk about is _him_, and how _he_ left the garden."

"Squall." Cid let out a long, painful breath.

Xu nodded shortly. "After Ultimecia, hell, after you first gave him control of this garden, they started looking up to him. He was their in-house legend. They all have immense respect for that young man, and they're all feeling more than a little lost because he left. There's been a lot of talk about resignation going around." 

"I don't doubt it." His voice was flat, uncaring.

"Sir, don't you wonder why they all haven't quit already? Don't you know why not a single person has resigned since we dropped anchor in Balamb Harbor?" Xu folded her arms across her chest. "It's because there's someone aboard this garden they respect even more than Squall." She unfolded one arm to point directly at the headmaster. "That someone is **you**, Cid Kramer. All of them out there, they all believe in you, Sir. They believe you will do the right thing. They believe it so strongly that they are willing to lay down their lives on faith in your decisions."

Her words had no effect on the weary man behind the desk. "I know, Xu. I know they depend on me. I know they trust in me. I know they would die for me." He opened his eyes. He pointed to the corner of the office. "Nida died right there, Xu. Do you remember him?" His eyes were unreadable. "I do. I remember every one of them, that's why I have to quit. I just can't…" Cid paused. "I just can't kill anyone else." 

Absolutely earnest, Xu leaned over the desk, holding herself up on her knuckles. "No, Cid, you didn't kill any of them. You saved them." How could he say what he was saying? Her voice shook with emotion. "You have saved the entire world. Without SeeD, without your ideals, there would have been no stopping Ultimecia. Headmaster, you've saved us all." 

At last, he turned his head away, his gaze fell. _The world? All I ever wanted, was to save her._ "I'm sorry, Xu. There's nothing left of me. I've nothing left to give."

The SeeD's expression hardened. "And if SeeD dies?"

The headmaster said nothing.

She almost didn't say it. She could never know what he was going through, but she could see the effects manifest themselves on his face. She almost wasn't so cruel as to play her final card. Almost. "Do you serve your sorceress, Cid Kramer?" Xu's voice was hard.

"No, I've killed her." The whispered reply was dry and brittle.

"Yes you do, Cid Kramer, I can see—even now—that she still calls out to you, even in death." Tears sparkled in the SeeD's eyes. _I know this hurts you, headmaster. But it is the only way._ "What is she telling you to do, Cid?"

The old man behind the desk seemed to collapse in on himself. Still, he said nothing.

Xu's lips tightened over her teeth. "Does she want you to give up, Cid? Does Edea cry for you to let everything you built together fall apart?" Xu turned to leave so she wouldn't have to see his reaction. "I know you hear her, Headmaster. What is Edea pleading for?" 

The SeeD had reached the elevator, but the headmaster could not see her. His glasses had fogged. His head was down, hands digging into his scalp. As the elevator doors closed with a whisper, his tortured breath formed words. "Damn you, Xu."

The replacement to the old elevator always made a grinding screech as it passed the repaired landing on the second floor. Xu gritted her teeth against the noise as she quickly ran her hand through her hair. She hoped her eyes were not as red as they felt. 

The first level doors slipped open, revealing half of the garden's remaining living legends. Irvine was leaning nonchalantly against a nearby railing. Early-morning light, shafting down from the windows above fell across Selphie's brown locks as she stood nearby. With measured calm, the sharpshooter pushed of the rail and threw Xu a lazy salute. Despite his apparent lack of concern, the Galbadian's voice was worried. "So… wha'd he say, mam?" 

Xu smiled for the benefit of the small herd of students gathering around the base of the lift—each one of them pretending just to have been standing at their particular spot by pure coincidence. "I think I convinced him." She spoke in a voice too low to be overheard by the small crowd. 

Selphie, too, kept her voice quiet enough to ensure privacy. "Is he gonna be… alright now? I mean, is this going to last?"

Xu's words belayed her smile and nod. "I don't know, Selphie. I—"

The chimes of the garden's Public Address system interrupted her. "This is Balamb Garden headmaster Cid Kramer." Everyone froze, waiting for the next sentence. "We have been made aware, by Estharian authorities, that Galbadia Garden has been spotted several hundred miles to our southeast. Eshtar has requested that we intercept G-Garden and determine their status and intent. If G-Garden is under control of the Galbadians, we will invade and occupy it. Details and stations will be assigned to students during homeroom." There was a short pause. Xu turned away from the crowd and swallowed. The headmaster's voice might have been tired, it might have been rough, but the despair was gone—or at least hidden. "SeeD briefings will take place at oh-nine-hundred garden time." 

Selphie bit her tongue, she knew it was too much to hope for but… "That is all." As the chimes died away, she tried not to let her disappointment show. _It really is too much to ask for a little speech for the students right now, I guess._ She turned to Irvine to speak, but was interrupted by the chimes again. 

"Oh yes, one more thing…"

…

It was quiet and dark in the Warriors' Chapel. The only illumination came from one round stained-glass window, set high into a faux-brick wall. The thick navy carpet absorbed the beams of light, which filtered in through the colored glass. 

It was also very silent. The walls blocked the hum of the garden's engines, and Squall was the only person to disturb the emptiness. His boots dug shallow trenches in the soft flooring while his knees sank slightly into the low cushioned step on which he knelt. The point of his sword rested in the scarred wooden holder—placed next to the step for that particular usage. Dark brown hair hung before his eyes as he bowed his head, one hand resting on his left knee, the other on the pommel of the weapon.

Squall was not religious, he did not believe in the old legends; Hyne, the knights, or any of the prophecies. In fact, he couldn't remember a single line from the book of Mohr—despite the fact he had been shanghaied into taking an entire class on the damn thing when he signed up for "The History of Warfare and Warriors." He didn't remember the Soldier's Prayer or any of a dozen other mantras he thought good only for bolstering the courage of the cowardly. 

But here he was. _I'm not here to ask anything of anyone else. I don't need the help of some mythical deity to make me strong. I'm here to…_ What?

_I need to know that I can protect her. I need to be sure my strength is enough._ Then why are you here? What do you think you will find?

_I have to concentrate, I have to search my soul to find if my abilities are sufficient for the task at hand._ But that wasn't it at all.

What he really needed to know. _What do I really need to know? Why am I never at peace?_

The answer was about as forthcoming as the question. As Squall knelt, the only thing that grew was his frustration. The pattern of lights edged across the floor as the sun moved across the sky, but nothing else in the room changed.

At long last, no better off than when he had come, Squall prepared to stand, but the unknown question still stuck like a thorn in his mind. "…"

As silently as she had entered, she laid a hand on his shoulder; it seemed to guide him to his feet. He turned to her with a question in his eyes. She tilted her head slightly, without answer. His hand left the sword as she took it in her own, his brows drew together slightly. 

She smiled at the expression, that same look which grew more familiar daily. She watched his brown eyes drop to the side as her cool palm drifted along the line of his cheek. She knew those same eyes would be widening slightly in surprise as she brought her face close to his. Eyes closed, she felt the brush of his breath around her mouth and chin. There was a sudden chill at his inhalation, then warmth again as his lips sealed with her own. 

This time, it was different. It wasn't tingling with fast lightning, it wasn't a sudden surprise melting away into sweetness, it was… different. And it ended differently; there was no embarrassed turning away, no release with gentle longing, in fact, it didn't really end at all. So slowly, and so carefully, she was certain his touch couldn't have broken a soap bubble, the feathery touch of his kiss alighted upon her chin, and then she felt the tickle of his now-rapid warm breath gliding softly down her neck. She tilted her chin skyward as air entered her lungs in a gasp and left just as quickly in a breath shaking with anticipation. As if on their own accord, her hands found their way under his shirt. His jacket clinked quietly as it fell from his shoulders. Her hands had wanted to investigate every inch of his smooth, shaking, skin, but instead they had slid up to his shoulders. Under her fingers, she could feel firm muscles twitching as his own hands flew to her body. At last, this time was theirs. He was hers. Somewhere beneath the topical thrills of pleasure, she could feel something deeper, something more lasting stir. His presence set her senses alight. One touch of his skin on hers and the whole physical knowledge of him was transferred to her. Through her fingertips she felt her knight, a presence, an overwhelming strength kept carefully in check, a fiery passionate being burning so brightly it hurt to close her eyes. The raggedness of his breath bespoke the raging desires within him, and the beating of his heart—in tempo with her own—was a mirror to her own needs.

All this, Rinoa felt as she thrilled in the physicality of the moment. Every button, every clasp released shocks of electricity as he undid them. If only time would have slowed down so she could experience the exciting fire that leapt across her skin from the slippings of fabric falling away, but her every nerve ending was screaming with impatience.

His breath whistled over the tiny depression at the base of her neck as his mouth pressed against the smooth skin of her chest. Dropping from his shoulders, one of her hands tugged gently, but impatiently at the buckle of his stiff wide belts while the other guided his left hand up from where it had lain against her waist until it cupped her breast. Another shaking breath left her as his lips dropped lower.

His arms were tight as he slid one arm under her blouse and across the warm curve of her spine, drawing their bodies together with gently restrained strength. He felt her rapid breath rustle along his scalp as she buried her face in his hair. She overwhelmed him. At last, he touched his angel in the ways he had dreamed for so long. And he knew their needs to be as one. Her skin so hot, to remain in contact was to be turned to nothing but ash, yet still he yearned to clasp her to him.

The buckles of his belts released with a quiet snick at the same time as a voice drifted from the hall, through the open door of the sanctuary. Rinoa's right hand left off its work at Squalls waist for a moment as she pointed toward the door. 

The entrance to the chapel vanished. In its place appeared a blank stone wall. 

The interruption of the voice had left Squall frozen in a moment of indecision. Slowly, slowly, he released the gentle pressure of his arm against his sorceress's back. Rinoa's sigh came a moment before his. "I know." She whispered.

Squall looked up at last. On his lips was almost, almost a smile. Very gently, he shook his head once. "I can't. It's not right for you."

"It's not right for **us**." She frowned at him just a tiny bit.

"Man, didn't there use to be a door here?" Zell knocked on the solid wall. "Hello—WOA!" He jumped back as the wall suddenly bristled with spikes.

"Yeah. Us." The hint of a smile was back.

They stood there, unmoving as their breathing slowed a bit. 

At length, Rinoa spoke. "Squall? You want to let go of something?" She looked down.

"Um… not really, no." This time the smile could not hide.

"What the heck is this thing?" Zell tapped one of the spikes with his armored glove. 

"He's not going away." Rinoa relayed, eyes closed as she fastened one last button. 

Squall smoothed his shirt. "Well, it is **Zell**, maybe we can just walk out?" 

Rinoa suppressed a giggle. "Well, if it was your dad, yeah. My dad, no way. Zell, I don't know."

The knight frowned. "Well, we can't stay in here all…" Before he could finish, the door reappeared. 

"Yow!" Zell jumped back from the sudden appearance of the entrance. "Hey! Squall! Rinoa!" He opened his mouth to say something, then his thoughts switched track. "Uh, what are you guys doing in there?" He scratched his head.

"We were trapped. That wall just suddenly appeared." Squall spoke with a straight face. Rinoa's eyes sparkled.

"Really? Huh. Hey, your faces are all red…" Zell raised an eyebrow.

Squall's voice was absolutely level. "We've been shouting our lungs out for help, couldn't you hear us?" Rinoa appeared to have something caught in her throat.

Zell stepped forward to inspect the inside of the door frame. "Huh, no. Jeeze, that's really weird." He turned to the knight and sorceress. "We ought to put up a warning sign or something."

Squall nodded. "Probably a good idea." 

Rinoa couldn't help herself, she exploded with laughter. Squall placed a hand to his face.

Slowly, the befuddled expression cleared from the blond SeeD's face. He looked into the darkened sanctuary, then he looked back at the two flushed figures standing before him. "Oh, no way! In the chapel!?" 

"No, we really were trapped." Squall continued to insist as Rinoa slid down the wall, helpless with mirth at his seriousness. At last, the knight threw up his hands. "Look, just, just don't worry about it."

Zell's brows drew together. "Oh man, you guys. There's something I really should tell you…!"

"We, …! , Zell!" Squall waved his hands. "Look! Nothing… Just don't worry about it!" Rinoa had drawn her legs up to her chest in an attempt to hold her giggles in check.

"But…" 

"Get out of here, SeeD!" Squall roared.

Automatically, Zell threw up a hasty salute. "Yes sir!" He retreated back up the corridor.

Squall stood with his arms crossed until Rinoa was finally able to stand. She wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke. "I'm sorry… you were just so…" She began snickering again.

_Whatever._

"Aww… don't be mad, Squall." She pecked him on the nose. "It makes you too cute to bear."

At last, he allowed a tiny crack of a smile with a sigh. "I guess it was kind of funny…" A shock ran up his arm as his hand bumped her hip. "Well, shall we hurry up, kill the bad guys, and save the world?"

Rinoa laughed a little, but the sound held a bit more desperation than humor. "Yes, quickly!"


	11. Procinctu

**Chapter 11**

** **

**Procinctu**

Midshipman Paul Franklin couldn't help but be surprised at his own calm. He was actually quite pleased with himself—or perhaps that was just the exhaustion talking. He was about to give the matter a bit more thought when he felt that peculiar buzzing on the undersides of his wrists and the back of his neck again. Acting almost on instinct, the middy dropped the seawater fire hose and fell to the scorched deck plates. He squeezed his eyes shut and emptied his lungs in a long breath. 

Thirty yards to starboard off the bow of the Esthar Naval Service heavy cruiser, William H. Durbin, a titanic column of water exploded skyward as the armor-piercing naval artillery shell splashed into the ocean. A clean miss. 

Franklin would have stood and returned to work, but he was nearing the last seconds of the count he had been keeping in his head for the last five hours, so he remained flattened against the heat-warped plates beneath him. He didn't bother looking around to see if the other guy manning the hose had gotten up. The heat from flames raging along the blistered paint singed his eyebrows.

The two remaining operational turrets on the cruiser whined, gears grinding into their final firing position as the ship's targeting computer plotted the best solution to the Galbadian dreadnought, several miles over the horizon. In both guns, the breeches clanked shut, completing the final step in the automated reloading process. 

The water abeam of the ENS cruiser was a deep shade of green. A moderate chop was rolling out of the northwest, and the breeze was whipping up little wavelets on the top of the groundswell. A few greasy slicks from oil spills appeared as undulating patches of rainbow-colored water. Abruptly, the sea on the port side of the William H. Durbin flattened as the overpressure wave from the cruiser's cannon blasted out across the water. Great gouts of cordite smoke jetted from the muzzles of the huge guns, and the massive cruiser rolled hard to starboard as it absorbed the recoil. 

Just like the last seven salvos, Midshipman Franklin didn't hear the roar of the naval artillery. He—along with everyone else on deck—had long since gone deaf, despite the protective equipment most wore. No one was supposed to be up top when the main battery was in play, but for the damage control parties to clear the deck between salvos would mean the end of the heavily damaged cruiser. 

Paul grimaced as he hauled the hose a few more feet forward, pulling in time with the motion of the blistered back of the man in front of him. The shockwave from the guns had beaten the inferno they were fighting back a few temporary yards. _Not that it looks like this old tub is going to stay afloat much longer._ He supposed the thought should frighten him. _It probably will, when things really start to go downhill, but for now…_ he was just so damn tired.

Getting up after another near miss few moments later, every muscle in his body aching with exhaustion, the Middy felt a hand on his sunburned shoulder. He nodded gratefully as an enlisted man passed him one of a half-dozen canteens before jogging off. Taking a pull at the water, he swished the liquid around his mouth. It tasted like oil. He swallowed. Poking the man in front of him with the canteen, he jerked his head toward the stern of the ship. "Switch up." He shouted uselessly. 

The soot-covered features before him cracked a weary grin. White teeth flashed in the blackened face as the man spoke. Paul wasn't sure, but it looked like he might be saying: "'bout time!" He sighed as he stepped forward, grabbing the brass handle at the nozzle of the hose. Despite the water thundering through it, the thing was damned hot. However, despite this, it appeared as if the damage control parties were finally getting the flames under control. Through the waves of heat and smoke, he could see another stream of water from the other team on the starboard bow. Then there was a bright light that seemed to come from within himself.

"Damage report!" More than just a little desperation crept into the young officer's voice.

"Sir, point-defense systems destroyed the missile before it hit us!" The ensign turned from the intercom to face the ship's new first-in-command. "Minor damage to the superstructure only, but we've lost men topside. There's no one manning the tiller!" The ensign paused a moment, and a hint of silence descended over the makeshift bridge—the original having been destroyed by a glancing hit from an enemy shell—as he listened intently to an unseen speaker. "The Dreadnought has moved out of range of our guns. We are still within range of theirs. Battery one has a jammed loading system. Engine room reports heavy flooding, main turbines about to go offline. Launcher three reports ready to fire."

The new commanding officer swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice level for the benefit of the few crew staffing the ship's control center. "Get someone back on those control wires." After main and auxiliary conns had been destroyed, the crew had been forced to cut into thecables controlling the ship's rudder in order to steer. "Signal the engine room to keep those propellers turning, we need steerage!" He trailed off.

"Sir? Launcher three is loaded and standing by." There was a pause.

The captain closed his eyes. "Is the Lunatic Pandora still within range?" 

"Sir? If we fire on the Dreadnought, we might…" 

The captain cut him off. "Is the Lunatic Pandora still within range, ensign?" 

"Yes, Sir. But… Sir, our missiles have had no effect on it so far." 

It didn't matter. "Send word for launcher three to target the Lunatic Pandora. Fire at will." 

The ensign was about to confirm the order, when a hatch banged open. Breathless, a runner waved the dispatch he was carrying as he jumped through the opening in the bulkhead. "Captain! Radioman Parker sends his regards, Sir, and reports that we are now able to receive long-range transmissions again." He paused long enough for a single pant. "Sir, fleet command reports the Lunatic Pandora remains on a steady course for Esthar. Carrier group oh-seven sends word that they are heavily engaged."

There was a pause in his report as the roar of the departing missile echoed through the thick armor of the cruiser's hull. 

From above, it appeared as though the William H. Durbin had taken a direct hit amidships as great clouds of smoke billowed out from the vessel's sides. A moment later, the brilliant flare of the ship-to-ship missile's rocket motor emerged from the launcher's exhaust. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, the large weapon climbed into the afternoon sky. Behind it, two more near-misses bracketed the cruiser with plumes of seawater. 

The missile's roar faded to a distant rumble as it transformed into a finger of white exhaust that drew a curved line through wispy fair-weather clouds toward the titanic dark rectangle which loomed over the southern horizon. The Lunatic Pandora's mountainous gray hull was just beginning to glow with the first hints of evening oranges. Abruptly, the warm colors of the afternoon vanished as its shields flared a brilliant green against the fiery explosion of the cruiser's useless missile.

…

The feeling of light-headedness didn't surprise her. If it wasn't her oxygen giving out, the blood pooling in her head as she hung over the soldier's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, or the toxins coursing through her body, then it was probably the painkillers. Quistis's chest hurt as she tried to force a laugh. "So, Hal, been in any situations worse than this one?"

The commando's reply was long in coming. "Not… too many." The microphone picked up his exhausted panting. "…dozen or so." He fell silent again.

Quistis didn't speak again. She had felt him stagger with just the added effort of talking. 

How far had they gone? It seemed like the corridor continued on forever. At one point, Quistis had felt herself slipping slightly into a mesmerized state. Frightened fully awake by the strange feeling of deathly euphoria, she tried to keep her mind alert counting how many of the metal floor plates Hal stepped across in ten strides. 

Measured from when the rear of his boot crossed a joint between the gratings, she counted 7 plates for every ten strides. This, of course, meant that he covered 7/10ths of a plate in one step. Quistis tried dividing out the fraction to find the decimal equivalent, but was distressed to find that she could not. Her mind kept drifting off on unrelated tangents and the numbers just wouldn't come into focus. 

It felt like her entire lower body was asleep. She felt almost as though she ended at the waist. _I wonder what it would be like to reach back and touch my legs? Are they still there? I'm being carried by them, right? When was the last time anyone carried me anywhere? Have I ever been carried… even as a child?_

Zell had something important to show her. Of course, Zell always had something important to show everyone, or tell everyone, or get anyone to join him in. That's just the way he was, Quistis understood this, why couldn't everybody else? Picking on him wouldn't do any good—sure it would shut him up for the moment, but Zell never changed; he was just like Seifer, or Squall. As she followed the blond boy down between the rocks at the water's edge, she put on—what she thought was—a very mature expression. Then again, none of them would ever change. Selphie, Irvine… _and me?_ A small, very adult smile appeared on the young girl's face.Quistis was pleased with how very grown-up she thought her thoughts were becoming, just as she was pleased she had managed to think of all the others in terms of their full names and not the childish monikers the others used as forms of address. 

So wrapped up in her own thoughts was she, that Quistis didn't see where they were headed until it was almost too late. She came to an abrupt halt. "Zell! What are you doing?!"

Already a few feet out on the wet rock reef that was uncovered at low tide at the lighthouse, Zell waved for her to join him. "Come on, Quisty! There's this really cool fish-thingy that nobody's ever seen before!" 

"Uh-uh, Zell. You know we're not supposed to go out on the reef when there's not an adult around." Quistis raised one hand to her chin, resting her elbow in her other hand, striking a very stern and mature pose. "How did you find this thing before, anyway?"

Zell ignored the implied accusation. "But Quistyyy! The tide's coming in! It'll take too long to get Matron!" The slightest hint of a sly note crept into the child's voice. "Besides, you're almost an adult anyway, right?"

The hair on Quistis's scalp prickled. _That's right! I am! _"Well…" She put on a mature frown. _He's probably going to go out anyway, even if I don't come..._

"Pleeeease! It'll just take a second!" Zell was wringing his hands together. "It's really a new speak-us of fish, we'll be famous!"

"Species." Quistis corrected him automatically. _And it wouldn't be very responsible if I just left him out here alone._ "Okay, but just a really quick look."

"Alriiight! Yes! It's in that pool right over there!"

She never even got to see the fish. The two children were only halfway out to the tidal pool Zell had indicated, when a rogue wave, carried in by the rising tide had swept both of them into the chilly, choppy water.

Quistis's first thought, as her head broke the surface was about how much trouble she would be in when her she came back in sopping wet clothes. However, a mouthful of seawater and Zell's panicked screaming and sputtering quickly shifted her thinking into a survival state. 

Living near the ocean for as long as they could remember, all the children knew how to swim, but Quistis had never been out this far or in water this rough—and certainly not fully clothed. She tried to tread water so she could see where the shore was but another large wave forced her under. She tried to kick to the surface, but her water-filled shoes were dragging her down. With more than a little regret, she kicked both of them off, feeling them slip into the depths. Her lungs were burning by the time she reached the surface again—only to have another wave smack her in the face. Finally, after much spluttering and coughing, she was able to keep her head above water long enough to open her eyes. 

Zell, buoyed by his frantic energy, was being swept out around the point toward the open ocean even as he thrashed vigorously at the water around him—seeming almost to be trying to push the entire ocean away from himself screaming for help all the while.

There was only one thing to be done. Quistis didn't spare a second glance back toward shore before she struck out after the blond child. It was not easy going. The waves, which had looked so small and gentle from shore, seemed like great cold mountains—all trying to crash down on her head. Her clothing dragged at her limbs, slowing her movements and sapping her energy. Surfacing after yet another dunking, Quistis saw the tip of the reef slide by. She and Zell were both caught in a strong current rushing out into deeper water. She was growing tired very quickly, and soon it was all she could do just to keep her head above water. Zell, continued to bob like a cork and wail like a banshee.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity of cold, salty water, Zell was within arm's reach. Not sure of how in the world she was going to drag both of them back to shore, Quistis reached out to him nonetheless. 

There was a brief moment of disorientation, then Quistis realized she was standing and dripping on firm, warm sand. Zell, shocked quiet, fell on his rump. The boy's silence was short lived, however, and he began bawling with shock and fright from the experience.

Her cold limbs beginning to shake with reaction to her close call even as her chest tightened at the sight of Matron, surrounded by the other children, looking quit stern and displeased. Suddenly, Quistis felt like she was being showered in warm bubbles as the sorceress pointed at her and Zell. Instantly, her clothes were dry and clean, her missing shoes replaced, the chill banished from her body. Matron expression softened as she stepped forward and gathered up the still-sobbing Zell. "There, there, child. It's alright, you're safe now."

Quistis felt just the slightest twinge of sadness as she stood, alone. Of course, she was much too grown up to be held like a baby—or to cry like one. She was also adult enough to tell the truth when Matron—knowing she would not be able to get any information from Zell for quite a while—turned to her. "What happened, Quistis?"

The mature thing to do was to keep it simple. "We went out on the reef, Matron, and a wave knocked us off." Quistis felt a lump rise in her throat as a flicker of a frown crossed Matron's face.

"Quistis, I'm disappointed in you." The sorceress's long black tresses shook slightly. "You know you are not allowed to go out there."

Quistis's eyes were burning, but the others were watching. She would **not** cry! "I know, Matron, I'm sorry." There had to be something else to say. Maybe when she was a real adult she would know what.

Still holding Zell—who, having thrown his arms around her neck, was now down to rampant sniffles and the occasional sob—Matron's expression softened. "I know, child." And that was that. There was a mixed reaction from the other children. They knew their Matron; there would be no punishment.

Quistis knew she should be grateful. She knew she had just narrowly avoided death and—even worse—real humiliation in front of the others. Still, as she watched Matron turn away and, accompanied by the other children, carry Zell back up to the orphanage, her sides ached to have comforting arms around them—even if she was too grown up to be held.

…

"The Sochia has been sunk. All hands feared lost, Sir. The third carrier group has not been heard from since they reported engaging large numbers of attack aircraft three hours ago. We are still detecting heavy jamming coming from their sector." The Captain of the Gemini I squinted into his binoculars as he half-listened to the reports of the disaster that was currently befalling the Estharian navy. 

_My God, it's massive!_ The Lunatic Pandora blotted out the setting sun. Behind it's dark bulk he knew a spectacular sunset must be occurring, but all the crews of the ships of the eleventh task force could see of it were the shafts of gold glinting from around the edges of the titanic floating device. 

"Captain, signal from the Gemini II. They are in alignment and ready to fire." The tactical officer reported as he made final adjustments to the confused jumble of switches and knobs on the console before him. 

Turning away from the reinforced Plexiglas viewport, the captain nodded. "Very well. Lets give those bastards what for. Power the laser."

"Aye aye, Sir!" The officer had a hard time keeping the excitement out of his voice. This was it! "Shifting drive power to main dynamos."

A shiver ran through the decking of the converted battleship as its two heavy driveshafts were shifted—by way of a truly gigantic clutch apparatus—into sync with a series of electrical power generators.The lights inside the bridge seemed to brighten, the air crackled and smelled of ozone. 

The tactical officer raised his voice to be heard over the whining buzz of the ships banks of capacitors charging—three decks below. "Batteries full… Xenon chamber flushed and ready… final alignment with Gemini II confirmed… ready to fire, Captain."

The captain, like the rest of the bridge crew, had pulled his protective goggles over his eyes. "Fire."

There was an ear-splitting **SNAP!**, and the bridge lighting winked out.

The water between the twin battleships was an inky black in the artificial twilight beneath the shadow of the Lunatic Pandora. Thinking that evening had fallen early, small fish leapt toward the bright sky from the tiny waves. Suddenly, one unlucky creature found itself transfixed in an invisible beam of an ultraviolet laser. In the millionth of a second before the fish was rendered down to its component atoms, the sea between the two large vessels began to boil. 

Aboard the Gemini II, the laser light was directed around a tightly coiled series of reflectors before being energized by a second emitter and focused skyward by a three-meter thick aiming lense. Thirty feet above the lens, the light from the two lasers coalesced in a pattern of constructive interference, and a purple beam—so brilliant it seemed almost black—sprang into existence, lancing out toward the dark mass of the Lunatic Pandora.

Nearly a mile above the ocean's surface, three of the myriad aircraft circling, attacking, defending, the Lunatic Pandora were caught in the blast of purple brilliance and exploded. The ethereal green energy barrier, which surrounded the Pandora was torn asunder by the blazing fury of the ships' energy weapon. The metallic skin of the floating monolith peeled back from the nova-like heat of the laser beam. Explosions rocked through a sector of the giant doomsday weapon as the light cut right through to the crystal pillar itself. The tip of the purple lance kissed the crystal.

"Holy shit! Break right! BREAK RIGHT!" Mazza Soares, the Electronic Counter Measures Officer of the Estharian tactical electronic warfare aircraft practically shrieked into his microphone as a pillar of purple energy appeared out of nowhere directly in front of the aircraft. 

Fortunately, Earl Soukup—the pilot—wasn't one to hesitate, and he rolled the jet away clear of the energy beam even as he shouted. "What?! Where?! I can't see anything!" Blinded by the brilliant light that had appeared out of nowhere, Earl was flying purely on instinct as he fumbled for the catch on his polarizing visor. 

"It's a laser! Put down your goddamn visor!" Mazza would have said more, but a look toward the Lunatic Pandora stunned him into silence. 

The sun was just setting to the west of the monolith. Brilliant oranges and pinks painted the contrails of the heavy bombers—that had been showering the Lunatic Pandora's upper surface with their ineffective ordinance—in sharp relief against the deep lavender sky. But certainly no one still able to see could have been paying any attention to the paltry show of the sunset. Not with the Lunatic Pandora looking as it did. 

The giant structure seemed caught in a three-dimensional spider web. Thousands of fingers of purple light stabbed out of the burning metal hull of the monolith. Flaming wreckage of aircraft unfortunate enough to be caught in the laser light refracting off the crystal pillar tumbled from the sky on all sides of the mountainous device. The arrows of violet seemed to stretch off into the darkness of space above. Below the Pandora, the ocean writhed and boiled. Lightning danced between clouds of vapor forming from the thousands of cubic meters of seawater already evaporated. 

The bridge was dropped abruptly into darkness. Stunned into silence, the crew of the Gemini I slowly pushed their goggles up onto their foreheads. The captain winced as his hands pressed down on the hot, blistered skin of his face. A quick look around the bridge revealed that everyone else had received a nasty burn from the prototype weapon as well. Rings of white, undamaged flesh encircled the eyes of all, but few seemed to notice, for the Lunatic Pandora was burning. 

The last orange glow of evening was now supplanted by a smoky ruby glare reflecting from the clouds, smoke, and water below the mammoth flying machine. Gouts of fire jetted from hundreds of blackened punctures in the once-smooth skin of the Pandora. Slowly, the enormous cube began to list to the south.

Finally, the realization of what they had done struck the crew of the Gemini I. A delayed—almost awed—cheering broke out as sailors left their darkened duty stations just long enough to shake the hands and grin foolishly at those near them. 

"We hurt them sir! By God, we did!" The grinning face of the navigator appeared before the captain.

"Back to your station."He rubbed his sore temples. "Back to your positions, all of you." The captain didn't shout. He never needed to.

The breath of giddy happiness was quickly swept off the bridge. A look out the windows told them that the Lunatic Pandora had stopped its slow tilt. Fires were being quickly extinguished and the huge floating weapon now loomed larger and closer than ever.

The crew was all business by the time the captain spoke again. "How long before we can fire again?"

"Ten minutes, Sir." The captain was about to nod, but the officer was not finished. "Fleet command reports that a large number of Galbadian aircraft have broken from their positions around the Lunatic Pandora and are headed this way. Our pickets report engaging multiple submerged craft."

The captain pressed his tongue against the inside of his teeth. The Gemini ships were fully specialized to their task. Neither battleship had better than minimal defense capability, they would have to rely on their escort of Destroyers and Corvettes to hold the Galbadians off long enough for them to get enough shots in to permanently disable the Lunatic Pandora. "Well, gentlemen, the cat's out of the bag now. We knew the Galbadian's wouldn't just sit back and take what we throw at them." He glanced down at the dead console before him. "Let's get this ship back online. We've got work to do."

…

Clean. That's how the bow of a ship feels. Clean and carefree. The wind blows through your hair, it tugs at your clothing, it feels like you're wading through a clear river of pure oxygen. Never mind the fact that it's really coating your skin in salt. Never mind that your eyes are watering from the grit and smoke in the air, never mind that this isn't really a ship at all, _never mind that all this stinking spray is going to rust out my Ergheiz, damn!_ The cool wind pulled the tails of the SeeD's jacket back like twin red wings, pointing toward the rear of Galbadia Garden. Standing near the lip of the roofline of the mobile shelter, Zell rested one hand on a raised metal exhaust port while the other dug through his spiky blond locks. _Dammit, Squall, Rinoa! Man! What am I supposed to do now? _He bared his teeth against the breeze. _Should I tell you everything Cid said to us? Do you guys know anything about what's going to happen? Should you know? What will happen if I tell you?_ "Rrrgh! How the HELL am I SUPPOSED to bring THAT up anyway!?" Zell kicked at a loose shingle. "God, I wish Quistis were here. She'd know how to handle this." _Or Selphie, or Irvine. Just anyone but ME._ "Man! No matter what I do, I am so **screwed**!"

The unexpected shout nearly caused the martial artist to lose his balance. "Zell!" 

Zell was not sure which was more unnerving. The fact that Squall had said his name without immediately following up with an order; or that the former SeeD commander seemed to almost be smiling as he said it again. "Zell." The brown-haired young man clapped a hand on the SeeDs shoulder. "Glad I found you." 

_Another smile?! What the **hell** is going on?! Squall **never** acts like this._ Zell offered up a weak grin in return. "Uh, yeah."

"Listen, Zell, old…" There was almost a hint of a choked pause in Squall's speech. "…buddy. I know you had something really important to tell us earlier, and I'm sorry about being such a jerk back there, but…"

_No way, this is just too weird._ Zell disengaged Squall's hand from his shoulder. He backed slowly away from the gunblade specialist. "Okaaay, Squall. You're really creeping me out now. Just what the **heck** has gotten into you? You're acting really weird, man… and you're talking way too much."

The knight's expression suddenly darkened. "Good." Was all he said.

"The hell?" Zell had just raised a hand to scratch his head when Rinoa seemed to appear out of thin air.

"Oh good. I **thought** you **really** were **you**, Zell, but we had to be sure." Rinoa smiled happily at the SeeD's confusion.

"Uh?" Was all the martial artist could think to say. At least one thing had returned to normal; Squall had fallen silent and was assuming his usual glower.

"It's kind of a long story." Rinoa said.I'll try to skip the boring parts."

…

"Deploying countermeasures!" The secondary tactical officer gritted his teeth as the bridge shook from launch and immediate detonation of two barrel-like radar-scrambling chaff canisters. Streamers of floating metal filled the air behind the Gemini I, creating a gigantic radar reflector decoy in an attempt to distract the incoming missiles. 

The Lunatic Pandora was almost directly overhead now, the air currents from its passage twisted the smoke from burning ships into convoluted coils of tortured pyrocumulus. A two thousand pound bomb detonated in the water directly to starboard of the modified battle cruiser as a formation of Galbadian jets screamed low overhead. Every window on the bridge shattered from the force of the blast and razor-sharp glass shards sliced the exposed flesh of the crew. The captain shouted an order, but was drowned out by the thunderclap of an Estharian jet going supersonic as it raced by—underwing ordinance nearly trailing in the water—in hot pursuit of the Galbadian bombers.

The tactical officer was screaming something, but the ringing in everyone's ears covered the sound of his voice, so instead, he held up a lacerated hand, with fingers ticking off seconds.

The captain made a slashing motion with his hand, indicating a 'fire when ready' command. A second later, his chest dissolved in a spray of blood as a round from a Galbadian attack aircraft's strafing run ended his life. The few remaining light bulbs on the bridge blew out as the Gemini I's capacitors became supercharged.

Hunkering down behind the scant protection offered by his firing console, the primary tactical officer slammed his fist down on the firing control of the laser.

Again, the ocean boiled between the Gemini I and II. Again, the beam was energized by additional diodes aboard the second ship, but this time, the two vessels had fallen out of alignment. In fact, the Gemini II had just taken two torpedoes below the waterline near the engine room. As the ship began to settle in the water, the laser beam struck the focusing lens at an improper angle. The lens cracked, and brilliant spears of light fountained from the bow of the Gemini II. One errant beam sliced the Gemini I neatly in half beforetunneling into the water as the Gemini II began to list rapidly to starboard. The stern half of the battleship shuddered as a beam penetrated the ships large battery banks, igniting escaping hydrogen gas. 

A sub-launched missile slammed into the bridge of the Gemini II even as her sister ship's bow and stern halves slipped beneath the waves. At last, the errant laser beams vanished as the last capacitor discharged. The ship's life rafts automatically deployed as the heavy list turned into a death roll and the gigantic ship capsized. Waterfalls cascaded from the Gemini II's still-turning propellers as the narrow-hulled vessel began to break up.

…

High above the purple cloudbanks of evening, the Ragnarok slowly circled several hundred miles from the Estharian coast. President Laguna Loire stood facing the spectacular view of the sunset offered by the giant windows of the spacecraft's main cabin, his hands clasped behind his back. To the south, a formation of high-altitude bombers was limping back to their base in Esthar. Several of the white contrails—brilliant against the deep purple sky—were marred by thick black smoke trailing from the tiny silver specks that he knew to be aircraft. Even as he watched, one such trail of dirty air thickened and curved toward the earth as the pilot lost control of his damaged aircraft. From this distance, the splash the aircraft made when it hit the ocean was invisible—as were any parachutes, if the pilots had managed to bail out.

The president sighed. "So, you authorized all this, Kiros, and you never said a word to me about it?"

"Old friend, I told you about the graphite piles," The dark warrior began counting off points on his fingers. "then I told you about the reactors, then I told you about the special possibilities of Professor Lowery's atomic research."

Laguna did not turn from the window as he shook his head. "But you never told me you had made a bomb, Kiros. You never told me you had built a weapon system out of this new technology." 

Kiros dropped his placating tone. "Oh, stop it, Laguna. You knew damn well what we were up to right from the very start." He shook his head violently. "You're not blind, Mr. President, and you're not as stupid as you would have some people believe." Kiros stepped up behind the Estharian president. "So stop pretending your upset about us doing this behind your back, and face up to the real issue you're having with this weapon."

Laguna stared out at the pall of smoke barely visible over the darkening horizon. Briefly, the belly of the ugly cloud was lit by a white glare as a ship's magazines ignited in a titanic explosion. "And what, exactly, is that, Kiros?"

"Your son, Laguna. We don't know whether he's onboard the Pandora or not." One beaded dreadlock slipped out from under the ceremonial headgear the advisor still wore. "You know we aren't going to find out in time, Laguna. You're going to have to decide without knowing."

Kiros was right, of course. Kiros was always right. Laguna had known about the experiments with the explosive metals—even he didn't just sign off on a eight-billion Gil research program without first understanding just how Esthar could benefit from the technologies. Laguna wasn't blind to the effects the weapon would have once detonated. To ensure the destruction of the Lunatic Pandora, the bomb would have to be placed right next to the monolith's skin—inside of it's shields. From what Laguna could recall of his briefing on the effects of the new bomb, an atomic explosion in such close proximity to so much metal would create a cloud of dangerous gasses. Somehow, the gasses could kill without even being inhaled, and wherever they settled, that area would be uninhabitable for many, many years to come because of something called 'radioactivity'. Laguna didn't really understand the mechanics of the process, but he did know that the Lunatic Pandora would soon be too close to Esthar to risk such an attack. _But Squall, if you're on board… If you're trying to stop it… _The president closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. _How can I do this to you, Squall? Dammit! There's so many things I need to… should have… want to… say. Kiros, how can you ask me to make this decision? I'm his father dammit! _But he was also the president of Esthar. Millions of people, perhaps even an entire culture would die if he hesitated now. _One life._ A son who never knew his father. A hero destined for… _The Fate, what she told me… is this how it happens? Am I responsible?_ "Kiros, signal the fleet to pull back. Tell them to begin pre-launch procedures."

Kiros's voice was quiet. "Yes sir, Mr. President." Laguna could feel his friend's eyes piercing his back

…

The searchlight was brilliant in the darkness. It painted the railings and mid-level observation deck of Galbadia garden is stark whites and silvers. The sharp shadows of a half-dozen paratroopers, one SeeD, one knight, and one sorceress were stamped on the metal decking and walls of the garden—replicas in midnight of the actual persons who now stood squinting at the lights of Balamb Garden. 

An amplified voice rang out across the dark water. "Attention! Galbadia garden! Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded!" There was a brief whine of feedback and a clip of an exasperated phrase broadcast over the megaphone.

"Howdy yall!" Irvine's amplified drawl echoed across the space separating the two floating structures. 

There was a clicking noise and some more feedback before someone else shouted into the megaphone. "…rvine, let go!" A pause. "Hi guys!"

No one on board Galbadia garden really knew what to say—except for Rinoa. She waved energetically and shouted across the water. "Hi Selphie! Hi Irvine!" Then she grabbed one of Squall's arms and shook it back and forth. "Squall says 'hi' too!"

An unamplified voice could be heard shouting: "Turn that damn searchlight off. I'm telling you, they're on our side." The blinding light clicked off. Darkness descended on the two vessels for a moment. There was a quiet thud and then a distant snapping noise as a flare ignited high overhead, providing illumination as it drifted gently down under its parachute. The flare's green light revealed echelons of SeeDs standing at the ready behind a half-dozen cannon-like apparatus mounted on the garden's deck. Each cannon sported a large arrow-like grappling hook. 

Squall noticed a Galbadian paratrooper stiffening slightly at the sight of the arrayed forces of the Balamb Garden SeeD. "Relax, soldier. They're friendlies."

The man's expression was halfway between a grimace and a nervous smile. "I sure hope you're right about that, Sir." Turning, he addressed his CO. "He is right, isn't he, Captain Dincht?" The soldier looked around. "Uh… Captain Dincht?" But Zell had vanished.

Iris's view was blocked; couldn't see who was on the standing on the deck of Galbadia garden. Last in the lineup of her boarding party as she was, even standing on tiptoe and craning her neck didn't allow her a good view over the heads of the other SeeDs. As the squad commander ordered the SeeDs to stand down, she allowed herself just the slightest disappointed slump. _Come on, Iris. What are the chances that he'd be there anyway?_ Still, it was surprising how much it hurt to lose a million-to-one shot. 

Randall Seelos, one of the SeeDs in her assault team, dropped a comforting hand on her shoulder mistaking the reason for her disappointment. "Aw, don't worry about it, Iris. I'm sure you'll get to blow something up real—what the!?" 

Screaming at the top of his lungs, like a madman, a figure came sailing over the lip of the deck where the attack company had assembled. Releasing the rope onto which he had been hanging, the stocky, spiky-haired person hit the deck running full-out just to keep his balance. SeeDs scrambled to clear a path for the out-of-control Tarzan wannabe as he stumbled and seemed about to fall on his face. At the last moment, the gloved figure threw himself forward, halting his mad dash with an aerial somersault. "TA-DAA!" Spreading his arms almost as wide as the grin splitting his features, Zell gestured for applause. 

Startled at the appearance of the blond SeeD, Iris could only blurt: "Zell?!" 

"WOA!" Zell practically fell on his rear as he realized whom he had come to rest before. His shock quickly fled, however. "Iris!" Automatically, Zell polished a hand on his pant leg and proffered it. 

Iris, in her surprise nearly shook the armored hand, but Zell snatched it away just in time. "Oh no! This isn't right! I'm sorry! Just a sec!" He turned, and dashed away, causing the SeeDs—who were just beginning to regroup after his arrival—to scatter again. Forty feet away, he turned back toward the explosives expert, spread his arms, and shouted. "Iris!"

Having gathered her wits, Iris had anticipated the blond SeeD's plan. "Zell!" She cried happily. The two ran toward each other, arms outstretched until they collided, Zell sweeping the pig-tailed student up in a spinning embrace. "Oh, Zell!" 

"Oh, Iris!"

Randall, having dusted himself off after diving out of the SeeD's path, stood and rolled his eyes. "Oh brother."

…

"Man, this is creepy. There's no sign at all of that _thing_."Hal's words brought her snapping back to reality.

"Good." Dahyte's rasping voice rattled down the coridoor. "How's Quistis?"

"I'm still alive back here." The SeeD spoke up.

"Good, I'd hate to think that all this effort is for nothing." Hal wheezed.

Quistis injected a frown into her tone. "All what effort? I'm as light as a feather." There was a very pregnant pause. "I don't hear you agreeing, soldier."

"Sir, yes sir! Dainty as a daffodil, sir!" 

The SeeD grimaced but the expression was lost on Hal's back. "I think I liked you better when you were too tired to talk."

"Hey Dahyte, how much farther?" Hal's voice strained for humor. "Too much farther and I'm afraid this crazy chick might gnaw through my spine or something."

Quistis might have replied to that, had she not already drifted away again.

Through supper that night, Quistis had a hard time swallowing around the lump that just wouldn't leave her throat. Zell had eventually stopped crying long enough to recount the entire incident for Matron—telling her everything; how he had been the reason they were both out on the reef in the first place; how he had seen Quistis swimming toward him instead of back to the shore and safety; his honesty was one of the things Quistis liked most about the emotional boy—that, and the fact that he was one of the only children who would follow her orders. However, even after Matron had congratulated Quistis on her bravery, even after seeing the new glints of respect in the other childrens'—and especially Squall's—eyes, Quistis still felt a dull aching within herself.

Late that night, after hours of trying valiantly to put the whole affair behind her, Quistis finally gave in. Sure that everyone else was asleep, she padded quietly into the bookroom—Matron always referred to it as the study. It was a small adjunct to the orphanage, with bookshelves on each side. The tiny bit of floor space remaining was occupied by a padded children's seat, much to small for an adult. Quistis usually spurned it, but tonight she sat. 

Quistis couldn't be sure how Matron knew where to find her. Perhaps it was her quiet sniffing, or the flickering light of the single candle she had lit, but find Quistis she did. 

The young blond girl felt a light touch on her shoulder—the same shoulder that shook as she struggled to hold in a sob. "Quistis, why are you crying?" The sorceress's calm, knowing voice betrayed the fact that she already possessed the answer to her question.

"I don't know." Quistis whispered.

The loving voice whispered in Quistis's ear as she felt herself being lifted gently from the chair. "I do." 

The child at last allowed herself cry out the worries of the present, allowed herself to be a child, allowed herself to be comforted and supported and loved. "It's alright Quistis, it's going to be okay."

"Huh?"

"I said: we're here, Quistis." She was staring up at Hal's faceplate as he looked down at her. The SeeD felt a moment's disorientation as she woke from the dream. Something sparkled on the inside of the commando's faceplate. 

"Hal, what's wrong?" She realized that he was sitting, holding her in his lap. The room they were in was much smaller than anything she had seen inside the moon base yet. Two cool blue glowing tubes illuminated bare walls and ceilings only a few short feet away with exposed piping and circuitry running over nearly every surface. It at least looked a **little** like a spacecraft. 

The lights flashed off the glass in front of the Galbadian's face as he shook his head. "Nothing, Quistis. Nothing. Dahyte is initiating the launch countdown."

"Hal, please tell me what it is." Quistis asked.

There was a long pause. At last, the commando turned his head to face the SeeD. The inside of his mask was beginning to fog over. "I'm sorry Quistis. I'm so sorry."

The words should have constricted metal bands around her heart again, but she was finally beyond fear. By all rights, she should have died long ago. Nothing but peace and sorrow remained.

Finally, Hal continued. "There's no air, Quistis. This ship isn't carrying anything but a few canisters of the moon's atmosphere." He swallowed. "On what we have left, we can't… we can't make it home." He turned his face away again.

She should have said something. She should have found a way to encourage him. She should have made a suggestion. She should have remembered to tell him that no situation was impossible. But it was. The whine and vibration of pumps as the ship prepared to launch was the only sound in the cabin. Dahyte was not within Quistis's view. 

For the first time in a long while, Quistis felt a slight tingling in her legs and behind her back. "I can feel you holding me, Hal." 

"Do you mind terribly?" He whispered.

Slowly, gently, Quistis rested her head against the padded side of her helmet. Somewhere, beneath it, through a dozen layers of plastic and Kevlar, the heart of the last one to ever hold her was beating. "It's alright, Hal." She felt his chest shake slightly. She felt his helmet descend and bump with her own. "It's going to be okay."

Through the shoulder plates of her armor, through the padded glove over her hand, she could feel the warmth of the soldier she barely knew.

Through the bulletproof vest, through the sealed sleeves of his suit, he could feel the warmth of the SeeD he wished he could have gotten to know better. 

There was nothing else to be said or done.

Through the red film coating her eyes, Dahyte rechecked what she hoped were figures for the rocket's ignition procedure. The controls were all labeled in the language of the long dead culture but some thoughtful engineer had decided to include a pictorial illustration of what each button, lever, and knob did on the control console. The pain in her lungs, and the shock she was feeling slowed her wits, even as she rushed to complete the firing sequence. 

_This isn't right._ How could there be no air? _This isn't the way things turn out._ There would be something, there **had** to be something—some way around this last impossible obstacle. Dahyte cast a quick glance back into the tiny cabin of the escape pod before stabbing what she hoped to be the ignition button.

A brilliant orange flare pierced the gloomy mist on the dark side of the moon as the escape rocket rose on a pillar of fire.

The acceleration was bad. She struggled for each breath of the stinging, bitter air as she was crushed into her seat—and yet, she survived. _This isn't the way it's supposed to happen. We'll figure out something, Quistis. I know we will. _Something besides the acceleration squeezed a drop of blood from the corner of the sniper's eye. _Heroes never…_

…

The thought popped, unbidden into his mind. The knight frowned. It was the least of his worries, and yet, he couldn't seem to banish the thought. 

The spotless white yacht absolutely glowed under the wash of moonbeams, filtered by high clouds and jet contrails. In the choppy sea, the small ship left a phosphorescent wake as something about its propellers stirred the bioluminescence of tiny sea creatures. A crewmember cast a worried glance at the glowing trail in the ocean. 

Seifer had no idea where the crew of the yacht came from. They kept to themselves as they attended the daily business of keeping the pleasure boat running trim and smooth, and the knight had no reason to talk to them. From what conversation he had overheard, he knew the crew was worried about being so close to the Estharian fleet. The blond man sneered. Undoubtedly the Estharian navy had much bigger fish to fry at present. Slowly, Seifer's expression twisted into a smile as a thought occurred to him. _or perhaps they only think they do._

For a brief instant, the sky lit up with a white flash. Several minutes later, a hollow booming noise rolled across the water from the explosion—several miles over the horizon. The battle that had covered the sea with a thin haze of smoke during the day was apparently still raging. Seifer found the backdrop suited his mood. He was restless, unable to concentrate on any one thing. The sorceress Sera had departed only a few hours prior with an order that he should await her summons. 

"Dammit!" Seifer growled and struck the deck gently with Hyperion's tip. He was thinking about them again. _Is it really any surprise? They were the only people I ever could call friends. Is it any wonder I should want to know what happened to them? _But why now? _Why? They are nothing compared to the importance of events about to happen._ Still, the thought would not leave him. Slowly, he—

Suddenly, the sun leapt above the southeastern horizon. Seifer felt the hairs on his arms prickle. It was nearly dawn, but the sun never rose like that.

…

Lieutenant Baird Durban had whittled his fingernails down to the quick. He had been sitting in the cockpit of the motionless rocket plane for over an hour now. He was certain every emotion conceivable had already run through his mind, twice, yet he still gnawed away at his fingers like there was no tomorrow. _And for me, there probably won't be._

With the thought, the raging pain struck again. The young lieutenant's hands tightened on the control yolk until he was certain the metal would bend. 

The night had started out bad, and gone to inconceivable. In the storm, the carrier's deck had seemed to shrink from a postage stamp to a needle's point. It had been his third landing attempt—the last before his fuel situation would force him to ditch in the thirty-foot seas. By some miracle, the rain had cleared long enough for him to set his aircraft down on the bucking deck of the ship—only just snagging the last arrester cable. 

He had made it five feet from the plane that the ground crew was struggling to get below decks before the release of so much tension caused him to vomit all over himself and the deck. Embarrassed, feeling—and smelling—terrible, then-Second-Lieutenant Durban had only wanted to crawl into his bunk and die when he received the message that ended his life. 

He had known something was wrong when they skipped his debriefing—that **never** happens. By the time they had brought the ship's psychological counselor in to the comfortable room in which they had left him, Second Lieutenant Durban felt ready to vomit again. 

It was his father, wasn't it? The treatments had failed. He was dying, right?

The psych had shaken his head and held up a hand, but Baird wouldn't let him speak.

It must have been his brother then. There had been an accident, or maybe his mother, just please, dear God, don't tell me that Marie…

It wasn't her. It was all of them. It turned out that the Lunatic Pandora had not been stopped. It turned out that no one had been able to repulse the flood of monsters. It turned out that no on in his hometown had escaped.

No one. Not even Marie. Not even the child she carried—his child.

Oh fuck you, God. Fuck you.

He knew why they were calling him. He keyed his mic. They always called when he cried. "I'm fine." His voice was choked. 

"Lieutenant, we have a line of backups. There's no shame in stepping down if you don't think…" The voice on the other end was compassionate.

"No." _It isn't going to happen again. It isn't going to happen to anyone else. _Just like each of the other ten volunteers—all waiting to take the controls of the flying bomb—Baird Durban had undergone the rigorous psychological training and examinations. The control room knew he would do what had to be done, and they would not remove him unless he asked. "I'm ready to go." His voice was tight with anger. "When are they going to give the order?!" 

"Soon." 

…

"You're out of time, Laguna. You have to make a decision now." The presidential advisor repeated.

"I know Kiros, I know!" Laguna was sitting in one of the few chairs remaining in the Ragnarok's cabin-turned-command room. "Status of the Lunatic Pandora?" 

"The same as it was forty-five seconds ago." Kiros folded his arms.

Laguna's hand was buried in the dark hair—streaked with quite a bit more gray than it had been a few days before. "Status of the weapon?"

"The same as—look, Laguna. If you can't order the strike, I'll tell them it's a no-go. But you have to decide!" The cabinet member kept his voice even. "Do you wish to deploy the weapon, Mr. President?"

The roar of the spacecraft's engines seemed quiet next to the thundering silence in the cabin.

"I'm sorry, Squall." The president's voice was a whisper.

"What did you sa—"

"Do it." Laguna squeezed his eyes shut. _I'm a soldier and a president. It's true. The Fate was right. I'm a murderer, not a father._

…

Irvine eased one of his arms from around Selphie's waist up to his head, scratching the scalp just under his hat. The small SeeD before him was twisting one foot back-and-forth in a nervous tic as she stared down at the deck plates. A few feet away, Squall was holding Rinoa as she cried into his jacket. His face was set in stone as he stared out over the dark ocean. 

Irvine wasn't sure just how it had happened, one minute they had been a babble of happy voices racing to catch up on the events of the past few weeks, but then the news about Matron had somehow slipped out. The sharpshooter's hand returned to Selphie's waist. Of course, he certainly couldn't find fault in Rinoa's reaction—he and Selphie had been no less shocked.

At long last, Rinoa managed to compose herself. "H-how did it happen?"

Galbadia garden was practically deserted. Xu was allowing the Galbadian paratroopers to use the Balamb Garden's long-range transmitters to report back to the CISS. After stopping both gardens side-by-side, the SeeDs had been taken off alert and sent back to their quarters for some much-needed rest. Irvine's words echoed in the empty hallway. "It was during the attack on the B-Garden. She was… trying to hold back the Galbadian's long enough to evacuate injured underclassmen." 

Rinoa sniffled. "And Mr. Kramer?"

"The headmaster is…" Irvine paused. "He's okay."

_No, he's not._ Squall's eyes closed. _He'll never be 'okay' again. Oh, Matron, why did you let this happen? Didn't you see it coming? You always knew what was coming. You even saw… Ultimecia._

Irvine had just opened his mouth to speak when Selphie interrupted. "Hey, does anyone else hear that?" 

The sharpshooter cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, sounds almost like a helicopter—but that's impossible, there's nobody around for hundreds of miles."

Squall frowned, keeping his arms around Rinoa's shoulders. "We should check it out." He looked down at the sorceress.

Swallowing, Rinoa wiped her eyes. "I'm okay." She nodded. "Let's go."

The above the open upper deck of Galbadia garden, stars were already beginning to fade from the vault of the heavens as the first hints of dawn rode across the sky on a light easterly breeze. The deck was coated with briny dew from the night. The moisture glinted in the strobe lights of the white helicopter—which had already set down near the outer edge of the roofline. The early morning calm was broken by the whine of its jet-turbine engine winding down as the rotating blades slowed. 

Squall's sword, like Irvine's Exeter and Selphie's Crescent Wish, was already drawn as he approached the unarmed aircraft. 

The tinted window on a door at the front of the helicopter jiggled as someone inside worked the latch. A second later, the door swung back, revealing the pilot of the chopper. With infinite care and slowness, the hunched and helmeted figure unbuckled her harnesses and clambered down from the doorway. Wrinkled hands gingerly lifted the helmet from her head, revealing the countenance of an aged woman.

"Rachel?!" Selphie burst out. 

The old woman's eyes lit up as she spotted the two SeeDs in the dimness. "Selphie! Irvine!" Her gaze alighted on the young swordsman standing beside the mercenaries. A knobby hand jumped to her mouth. "Oh my! Is it…? It… it is! Squall Leonhart!" She took a step back as she spied the raven-haired girl beside the knight. "And… and… S-Sorceress Heartilly!!" Suddenly, even in the twilight, the four friends could see the tears sparkling in the old woman's eyes. "You're here!" She was hobbling toward them quickly now. "Oh! Oh…!"

Squall's grip tightened on the sword. He spared a quick glance at the SeeDs. "You know her?"

"Yeah, Squall, it's okay. She's a friend." Irvine replied. 

Selphie had lowered her weapon at the appearance of the wizened sorceress. "Rachel, what are you doing here?" Her brows drew together. "And where's Quistis?"

But the sorceress was apparently too overcome at the sight of Rinoa to pay the questions any heed. "Oh… This must be a dream! It's too perfect! It's actually going to work!" She stretched a shaking hand toward Rinoa, as if unable to believe that the sorceress was real and not just a trick of the light.

Rinoa held herself from drawing back from the excited old woman as she took the gnarled hand in her own. "Yes. I am the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly." A wane smile surfaced. "I don't believe we've met."

The woman's whole body seemed to be quivering with excitement. "Oh, no, no we haven't. But, but, I've read all the books about you. Oh, and I've watched all the oldmovies… even the one with Sherry Fraley in it—but, but, oh, you're so much prettier than… and I-I…" 

Rinoa's smile was fading quickly into confusion as she looked to Selphie and Irvine for an explanation of the old woman's words. "Uh… I'm flattered."

Selphie cleared her throat. "Um, Rachel?" The old sorceress continued to bubble over with excitement, ignoring the seed. "Rachel!!" 

At last, the shout captured the woman's attention. "Huh?"

"Rachel, we haven't had time to tell Rinoa and Squall about you yet." Selphie continued. "They don't have any idea who—."

"OH NO! TIME!!" The old woman wailed. "I almost forgot!" Still holding on to Rinoa's hand, she turned to Selphie. "Quick! You've got to tell everyone over there," she motioned to the SeeDs on the Balamb Garden decks—heading over to investigate the new arrival, "to get inside!" 

Irvine scratched his head. "Why? What's going on?"

"Please! There's no time to explain! Just trust me!" Without waiting for a response, the sorceress turned to Rinoa. "Sorceress Heartilly, I found your angel wings, but I really need to use them just for a second. Is that okay?"

Even as Irvine shrugged and cupped his hands over his mouth, shouting through the improvised megaphone for the SeeDs to take cover, Rinoa pressed her lips together in a confused frown. "Uh, I guess so."

"Oh, thank you!" The hunched woman released Rinoa's hand and turned toward the helicopter. Abruptly, one of the rear doors blew off of the flying machine, and the two splendorous wings of white carved stone sailed across the deck. The old sorceress turned, allowing the magical array to affix itself to her shoulders. Before anyone could move, the wings crackled and sparked as a shower of strange magic poured from the sorceress's upraised fingertips. 

Squall advanced on Rachel even as he felt the spell wrap around his body. "What are you doing?!" His grip on the sword tightened as his vision seemed to dim.

The old woman raised a hand. "Wait! It will protect you, look!" She pointed to the horizon.

…

The aircraft beneath him seemed to be trying to shake itself to pieces. The solid rocket motor burning at the tail of the plane roared, spat, and coughed as jetted flame and smoke, propelling the flying bomb through the sky at a terrific pace. Lieutenant Durbin barely dared take his eyes off the controls long enough to glance over at the high-speed Estharian jet fighters escorting him toward his target. Still, in the moment he was able to glance over, he glimpsed the closest pilot snapping him a salute. 'Good luck, buddy.'

Abruptly, the booster engine cut off and silence descended over the cockpit. In front of him, the analogue gages, that had been gyrating wildly a moment before, settled into a slow progression as they tracked his aircraft's arcing path across the early morning sky. There were no computers aboard this aircraft. Despite their best efforts, Estharian scientists had yet to come up with a counter to the degrading effects the explosive-metal bomb's radiation on electronic circuitry. That was why Baird had to be here in the first place. Had he bothered to check the tiny radiation counter attached to his flight suit's right breast pocket, he would have noted that the amount of radiation he had already absorbed was approaching the tolerances for a lethal dose. It didn't really matter.

The flying bomb continued its track across the sky as Estharian strike craft fled eastward. Below him, Lieutenant Durbin thought he saw the flash of twin-afterburning engines streaking away from the Lunatic Pandora. "You're welcome." 

Baird's jaw tightened as the giant floating box filled his view. It was his first real glimpse of the Lunatic Pandora. The thing was huge. He had already decided he hated it. His escort had long since vanished—drawing the swarms of Galbadian fighters away from the Pandora as he progressed on a steady course towards the device.

WHAM! His canopy glowed green as the Pandora's shield caught and held his craft. A sheer metal cliff stretched off in all directions. Without hesitation, Lieutenant Durbin ignited the second—and final—rocket motor. Bolts of green lightning danced across the bomb's wings and fuselage as it slowly tunneled into the resistive shielding. _This is it._ Baird's muscles felt sluggish as he flipped the safety cover off the weapon's trigger. _Must be the radiation._ It had already dulled and curled the photograph taped to the aircraft's dashboard. It seemed like such a huge effort—but it was well worth it—as Baird Durbin brushed a lead-lined glove with his lips before smoothing the curled darkening photograph. Just as he had once smoothed the bobs in Marie's short brown locks. "See you soon, love." The aircraft lurched under him as it broke through the shielding. Lieutenant Durbin closed his eyes as he pressed the trigger.

…

The brilliant sphere rising in the east painted the shadows of the SeeDs, sorceresses, and knight across the upper deck of G-Garden. Squall could feel the blanketing magic tighten

around him. Through it, the ball of fire in the west seemed not to brighten so much; rather, the rest of the world seemed to dim to blackness. He could see nothing but the quickly fading

balloon of light. He stared at it uncomprehendingly. 

Dozens of miles away, the heat of the sun was raging. The metal hull on the Pandora's eastern side simply ceased to be. For the Galbadians manning the device, there was no

warning. They were vaporized by the ten-thousand-degree heat long before their brains could register the signals from their nerve endings. If time could have been slowed for an instant, an

observer would have noted the shock from the overpressure wave of the atomic blast actually tore the giant supports from the crystal pillar as it rippled through the monolith's metal skin.

Millionths of a second later, the alloys flashed to superheated vapors and plasma as the fireball washed over them. The great bulk of the crystal pillar itself shielded the western side of the

Lunatic Pandora for nearly an entire second before the blast engulfed the remainder of the floating weapon. 

Having consumed the whole of the Lunatic Pandora, the fireball continued to expand into open air, it's outer edges cooling to a mere two thousand degrees. It pushed before it, a

sphere of compressed air. As the concussive shock from the blast expanded at transonic speed, it dissociated any clouds in its path, superheating the water vapor. Once it had passed, the

sudden drop in pressure cooled the air between the dimming fireball and the expanding shockwave causing a huge sphere of water vapor to enshroud the explosion. 

The shock wave passed over several ships unlucky enough to be in the area, shattering the hulls of those closer in, while capsizing ones further out. A Galbadian and Estharian

submarine that had engaged each other with torpedoes directly below the Pandora had their hulls popped like soap bubbles, although submarines lurking deeper survived relatively

unharmed. 

The fireball continued to expand and cool; it's edge stopping just a few feet above the boiling sea surface. In total, the explosion had expanded to a maximum diameter of roughly

one-and-one-quarter miles. The shockwave was now nearly fifteen miles from the epicenter of the blast and racing outward at around mach two. 

The fireball quickly collapsed back in upon itself, sucking in air and water from the surroundings. The ocean water—already heated by the blast—was vaporized in massive

quantities by the sudden drop in pressure, adding to the four-mile-wide plume of white cloud and smoke rising from where the explosion had erupted. 

Squall started slightly as two arms slipped out of the darkness surrounding him and threaded their way in with his own. "What was that?" Rinoa's voice, close to his ear, was

breathless with awe—and maybe a little fear. 

The world was beginning to brighten again as Squall shook his head. "I have no idea." He was about to say more, but then the pressure wave from the explosion washed across

the gardens. 

By the time it reached the two flying academies, the shockwave was traveling at a mere four hundred miles-per-hour and was accompanied by two hundred and seventy-five

mile-per-hour winds. The noise from the blast had just caught up to the shockwave. If the magical barriers surrounding the SeeDs, Sorceress, and Knight hadn't suddenly frozen them to

the deck and cut off all sounds, they would have surely been swept into the ocean and deafened by the roar. Fortunately, both mercenary schools had been built as refugee shelters and,

as such, were able to withstand the screaming winds and filter the thunderous noise of the explosion down to levels tolerable to their occupants. 

The helicopter on which the sorceress had arrived did not fare nearly as well as the gardens. The flying machine was tossed into the air by the winds, all of its doors and windows

blown out. For a moment, it seemed almost as if the aircraft could surf gracefully on the raging gale—but then it slammed into the wall of the sail-like ridge running the length of Galbadia

Garden and was crushed into scrap. The debris were swept clear of the decking to plunge into the ocean nearly half a mile beyond the edge of the garden's rooftop.

The rope bridges erected between the two gardens screamed in the wind and then parted with gunshot-like snaps as the gardens shifted with the gale. The remains of the

makeshift walkways beat themselves to shreds on the sides of the garden, denting the armored sides in their frantic violence. There was a momentary calm, and then the winds

returned—this time from the opposite direction—as air rushed in to fill the vacuum created by the blast. 

At last, the storm abated. To the east, where the Lunatic Pandora had floated, now loomed a towering white cloud. The gigantic mass of vapor seemed to rise like a blossoming

flower. Almost invisible on the horizon, it's base was still enshrouded in the grays of night, but halfway up the mountainous column of smoke, the rays of the dawning sun painted the

opaque column all the warm shades of morning. As the great bud of vapor—all that remained of the titanic fireball—rose into the stratosphere, it flattened against the high-altitude winds,

giving the impression of a giant mushroom. The spreading cap glowed a brilliant white in the light from the sun—still far below the horizon. 

As the magical protection released its hold on him, Squall could see lightning playing across the shadowed portions of the mushroom cloud. No one spoke as they all stared at the

cloud. No one could think of anything to say.

…

The captain flipped the handgrips up with a snap and the periscope slipped back into its housings. He turned to the small patrol submarine's two passengers. "Great Hyne… it's

over. Just like you said it would happen, Sir." He addressed the man—dressed in plain clothing—who stood next to the hooded and robed figure. 

The man nodded. "Move in next to Galbadia Garden and surface the boat."

The Galbadian captain saluted briefly. "Yes, Sir." He turned toward the helmsman—the only other sailor on the tiny bridge. "Make your heading two-four-one. Bow planes up

five degrees." He pressed the button on the intership microphone he held. "Engine room. All ahead dead slow." It was an awkward system, but the submarine had been designed as a

picket boat for naval harbors—the ship had never been meant to travel this far from Galbadian waters, or serve as a platform for boarding parties.

The man frowned. "Be quick about it. We don't have much time."

A few moments later, the stubby conning tower of the submarine rose from the water—still flat from the shockwaves—beneath the overhanging decks of Galbadia Garden, and

slipped up to an access hatch set into the bottom of the garden. The cloaked figure emerged from the submarine first. Two clawed hands emerged from the depths of its loose sleeves and

wrapped themselves around the Garden hatch's undogging mechanism. After it had opened the access port, the figure pulled itself inside, followed shortly by the man with whom the

captain of the submarine had spoken. Once they were both inside, the captain's head poked out of the sub's own egress port.

He peered into the dimness where his passengers had just disappeared. These have got to be the strangest sailing orders I've ever carried out. The captain of the little

submarine was just about to close the hatch and return to his bridge, when a face appeared from the darkness of the port above. 

The captain couldn't help but gasp, for the visage that stared down at him was the strangest thing he had ever seen. The clear plate of a mask over the creature's features did

nothing to hide the thing's dead gray eyes or green-scaled skin. "If you want to survive," it hissed at him, "dive deep." The hatch slammed shut with a loud clank.

…

Rinoa noticed that her arms were still wrapped tightly around her knight even as her eyes—along with everyone else's were locked to the spectacle on the horizon. She felt him

start at the exclamation.

"Whoo-hoo! BOOOM!!" Selphie had finally found her voice. "Now that's what I call smithereens!" She tugged playfully at Irvine's vest. "Irvy, see that?" She pointed to where

the bomb had gone off. "I want one!"

"Uh-huh." The sharpshooter was still staring off at the horizon. 

Selphie frowned as she surveyed everyone's unresponsiveness. Come on, you guys! It's just another big surprise. If you're going to stand around all slack-jawed every

time this sort of thing happens… 

Rachel was the second one to speak. She shook herself slightly, her trance broken by the SeeD's shout. "So that's what it looks like…"

Giving up on Irvine for the moment, Selphie turned to the wizened sorceress. "You knew about this." It was not a question.

The old woman nodded slowly. "Yes." She blinked twice. "We call them 'atomic bombs.' They're the only real weapon we have against the sorceress and her monster hordes."

She moistened her lips, still looking eastward. "Esthar was the first to use one… I guess that was it."

Selphie flashed a quick smile and turned back to her gangly beau. "You hear that, Irvine?" She had to stand on tiptoe to snap her fingers in his face. "'Atomic Bomb'. I want one.

Write it down." 

At last, the tall SeeD wrenched his eyes away from the towering cloud. "Alright, darlin', I'll git right on it." He patted her head.

Rinoa had given up trying to understand what was going on, instead, she concentrated on ensuring that Squall did not escape. Aren't I allowed to be a little clingy after all

this? The sorceress closed her eyes. Maybe if we just hold on to each other, and maybe if we just step a little closer… Maybe everything else will just go away. Maybe, when

I open my eyes… She chanced a peek. Disappointing. The world was still out there.

Squall had the strangest urge just to shrug and say 'whatever.' Whatever. I don't think anything could surprise me now. He shook his head inwardly. What happened to

the days when it was my gunblade and magic verses the monsters? When did things get so complicated? He felt Rinoa's arms tighten around him. A long time ago, he might have

pulled away. A long time ago, he might have been annoyed and told her that 'this is serious.' Now, however, he simply leaned into her embrace, letting his own arms fall around her waist.

I know, Rinoa. I want this to all go away, too.

A few SeeDs had emerged from Balamb Garden. Most of them stood, staring at the mushroom cloud—now lined with sliver and gold as the sun rose behind it. At last, Xu—one

of the first people out after the winds had abated—spotted the small group on G-Gardens deck and shouted across the gap separating the two schools. "Mr. Kinneas, Miss Tilmitt,

report!" 

Irvine cupped his hands around his mouth. "The Lunatic Pandora's been destroyed, mam! Everything's gone!"

Suddenly, the sorceress Rachel stiffened, her eyes widening. "Oh no!" She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. "No, it hasn't! I forgot again!" She tried to shout across the water,

but found that her voice was not strong enough. "Selphie! Quick! Tell them to take the garden up!"

Selphie turned. "What? What are you talking about?"

The hunched sorceress gestured frantically toward the sky. "Up! Fly! We have to get the gardens up out of the water!"

Irvine had turned to face the sorceress. "Why?"

Rachel shook her head violently. "There's no time to explain! Just tell them!"

Irvine looked at Selphie, the short SeeD shrugged. "I guess I trust her." She turned back toward Balamb Garden, drawing breath to shout. As her gaze fell upon the eastern

horizon, she saw the reason for the sorceress's concern.

The blast from the nuclear bomb had completely destroyed the giant airship. The atomic fires had scoured the surface and tunnels of the crystal clear of the support structure that

transported it from place to place. All that remained of the Lunatic Pandora was a spreading cloud of radioactive dust—and the crystal pillar. The gigantic fireball that had consumed the

hull, engines, and crew of the Pandora had been unable to so much as scratch the mountain-sized gem. As a result—shortly after the runaway atomic chain-reaction had finally stopped the

growth of the fireball, the multi-million ton rock had begun its descent into the sea—well over a mile below.

Twenty seconds after the destruction of the Lunatic Pandora, the Crystal Pillar reached the ocean. 

…

"The jet stream has shifted to the north, Mr. President. Most of the fallout from the explosion should remain well off our coast." Kiros looked up from the sheet of paper he had

been reading for a moment before continuing. "Laguna, satellite surveillance reports that the Crystal Pillar was not destroyed by the explosion."

President Loire turned away from the viewing window. Been spending too much time thinking, Laguna, time to be president again. "What?!" 

Kiros looked grim. "It fell into the ocean. We didn't foresee this, but I think we'll be able to deal with it. I'm issuing Tsunami warnings for our entire eastern coastline. I'll send

notice to Balamb, Timber, and Dollett as well."

Two fingers across his lips, his thumb under his chin, Laguna nodded. "Send an alert to the fleet." Or whatever's left of it. 

"Yes, Sir." Kiros looked down again. "Oh, one more thing; the B-Garden SeeD reports that Galbadia Garden is under the control of the CISS… Squall Leonhart and the

sorceress Rinoa Heartilly are aboard."

Laguna's eyes were tightly shut. His chin pressed down on the hand upon which it rested. No breath passed his lungs as he sank into one of the compartment's padded seats. 

Alive.

At long last, his throat unlocked. "Get them on the radio." He swallowed. "I want to talk to him."

Very slowly, Kiros shook his head. "I'm sorry, Laguna. We lost contact with them when the bomb went off." He held up a hand as Laguna bolted to his feet. "Laguna, stay calm.

We're almost certain they were far enough from the explosion to survive." He answered the president's next question before the man could force it out from between the bars of his fear.

"We've been getting reports of electronic equipment being destroyed by some sort of side-effect of the weapon. We think the same thing happened to the gardens."

Still, the president's face remained a dead pale. "Do they know about the tidal wave?" 

Kiros closed his eyes as he nodded. "If they didn't before, they will in the next minute."

…

"Helm's not responding, mam! Everything's dead!" B-Garden's pilot looked back at Xu from the useless control console.

Xu's fingertips rested against the cool glass wall of the garden's bridge as she gazed out at the wall of water rushing toward the two gardens. The regular ocean swell flattened

before the oncoming wave. The horizon continued to climb higher and higher as the tsunami approached, it's top was shrouded in spray as air—rushing up the face of the liquid cliff at high

speed—stripped it from the surface of the ocean. As the dark wall obscured the sun, she turned back to the public address system's microphone, but there wasn't anything left to say. If

the SeeDs hadn't been able to seal the outer hatches and evacuate the decks by now, it was too late. She let the microphone drop from her hand.

The color seemed to leach from the already-drab garments worn by the old sorceress. Under her feet, the mosaic pattern faded from the tiles of Galbadia Garden's upper deck. A

few inches from the sorceress's upraised hands, a sphere of black hovered. The tiny ball of magic seemed to suck at the air around it as the hunched woman muttered unintelligible

phrases. Tendrils of a black fog twisted between the wings of stone she wore—the magical array had never been designed for use by another, and the strain was showing as sorcery

seeped from them. 

Even as the wrinkled sorceress engineered her strange spell, Rinoa was busy weaving her own. The dark-haired girl's eyes glowed amber while she pulled layer after layer of

protective magic from the air and wrapped it about the group standing exposed before the towering ocean.

Squall had never felt so helpless in all his life. He stood—teeth locked, hand resting on the hilt of the useless sword—and watched the shadow of the wave fall across the deck. He

glanced over toward Rinoa, but she was a million miles away. 

The foot of the wave reached Balamb Garden first. Inside, SeeDs and students alike clung to any support they could find as the massive structure tilted underfoot. 

Xu watched, never blinking, as—high above her—the crest of the wave began to descend upon the garden. She was surprised by the calm that had overtaken her. It's just too

big. This is it. With only seconds left, she felt a profound sadness sweep over her. This is how SeeD will end. She had promised herself she wouldn't, but at the last second, she

closed her eyes…

…and opened them again, as she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. To the south and to the north, the lips of the giant spherical hole carved into the wave began peeling

inward to fill he enormous gap that had appeared in the wall of water. An exclamation of wonder was stricken from her lips as she stumbled into the wall, the garden accelerating

underfoot—sliding down the front of the much-diminished tsunami. 

The black sphere hovering before the sorceress Rachel flashed into nothingness even as a quarter-mile-wide hole appeared in the giant wave. The elderly woman collapsed to the

deck before anyone could move to assist her. Then, chaos erupted.

Balamb Garden—carried along by the remains of the cliff of water—slammed into Galbadia Garden's prow, backwards. The ridged support of it's tail-like stern crashed through

the red walls of the former desert training center, buckling plates and shattering tiles. The stern clove through the upper decks of G-Garden like a razor through cardboard. There was an

enormous jolt as the sharp stern impacted the central support column of the desert training center. The massive beam bent under the strain, but held fast, arresting Balamb Garden's

motion. Plumes of spray shot skyward as the gardens' hulls collided and both massive structures bucked and pitched beneath their occupants like wild horses. B-Garden's sharp stern

continued to grind into the central support of G-Garden as the former island training center pivoted about its axis. 

Both gardens shuddered again as the rings of their drive systems collided beneath the surface of the water. Enormous chunks of metal exploded from the ocean like maddened fish

as the tangled propulsion fins broke under the strain. As Balamb Garden swung past Galbadia Garden, the outermost decks of the desert garden slammed against the smooth sides of the

island SeeD's training center, leaving a huge dent in the hulls of both structures. 

At last, with a few final screams of tortured metal, the frothing wave carried the two gardens clear of each other and the tsunami rolled off to the west. Balamb Garden—not too

much the worse for wear rotated slowly in the uneasy sea. 

Galbadia garden had not faired so well, however. The lower bulkheads had been opened to the ocean, and seawater was rushing into the great gaping hole left by B-Garden's

stern. The mauled central support beam groaned warningly as ocean filled the lower decks and G-Garden settled lower in the water.

Beneath him, Squall felt his sorceress stir. At the last possible second, he had tackled her to the deck, wrapping his arms and legs around her own and covering her body with his.

"This is becoming a habitual thing, isn't it?" Two brown eyes smiled up at him. "You didn't need to—I know how to cast protective magic, you know."

She was right, of course. Despite the maelstrom of metal and tile, despite the bucking decks and thundering water, the sorceress's magic had kept everyone from harm. 

The sorceress dusted herself off. "How about next time, I get to be on top?"

Squall couldn't decide whether to wear a scandalized expression or smile slyly, so he settled for befuddlement. He opened his mouth, though he had nothing to say. "…"

Selphie's shout saved the knight from further comment. "Squall! Rinoa! Come quick!" The brown-haired SeeD was kneeling next to the collapsed form of the elderly sorceress.

Irvine, beside her, pushed himself up from one knee and—taking a step back—cast a Curaga spell on the still figure.

By the time Squall and Rinoa reached her, Rachel was stirring. "Save your para-magic." She croaked. "I'll be alright."Her voice was weak with exhaustion.

Rinoa's brow furrowed as she knelt beside the gnarled woman. "You saved us." Her hands were hesitant as she slowly reached for the woman's hand.

Rachel, reviving slightly, snatched it away. "No, sorceress Heartilly, save your strength… you'll need it."

Rinoa's expression darkened a bit more. "I don't understand… who are you?"

The older sorceress coughed slightly as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "Please… please, I've changed so many things, it's a miracle I'm still here." She turned to Selphie

and Irvine with a beseeching look on her face. "I'm afraid… if I tell her anything else, I might disappear. I have the object of her power…" The sorceress's hand disappeared into the

folds of the shapeless robe she wore, it emerged a moment later—gnarled talons curled around a giant aqua gemstone. Deep within the Sapphire Dream, light danced and

sparkled—looking like nothing so much as a cloud of miniscule fairies waiting to be set free. The beautiful play of the gem's inner glow dimmed not at all in the bright morning sunlight.

"Please…" She held it out at arm's length, toward Rinoa—as if she couldn't stand to be close to the thing. "Please destroy it."

Rinoa drew back slightly from the proffered gem. "Why? What is it?"

"I can't tell you… please…" Rachel repeated, her arm—shaking with exhaustion—thrust the gemstone at Rinoa again. "…please, you must destroy it now!" With her other arm,

she gestured to the SeeDs. "Ask your friends."

Rinoa bit her lip as she looked up at her friends. "Selphie? Irvine?"

Selphie looked down at the withered form of the sorceress from the future. "Rachel, where's Quistis?" She was glad for Irvine's hand on her shoulder; backing her up.

The ancient woman began to cry. "I…" She seemed to be having trouble drawing breath. "I can't… t-tell you until this thing is gone!" She shook the enormous gemstone, but

refused to look at it. "I can't do it myself—I'm not strong… s-strong enough." Her narrow shoulders shook as she gasped. "Please! Please… I-I gave up everything… w-we all did, just

to… to d-destroy this thing! Please help me!" The tears shining in the old woman's eyes as she looked up betrayed her desperation.

Squall stiffened as Rinoa slowly reached out and retrieved the gem from the old woman's hand. "I… I don't know." She held the sparkling sapphire up to the sky, trying to peer

into the swirl of sparkles within. "You guys?" Standing, she looked back at the two SeeDs. "I'll do it if you think I should. Do you trust her?"

Irvine licked his lips nervously. "Uh… yeah." He felt Squall's gaze on him. "I guess." 

Beside the Galbadian sharpshooter, Selphie closed her eyes and nodded. "Quistis believed her, Rinoa, and I think I do too."

The young sorceress looked to her knight. Squall?

The slightest frown creased his features. I'm sorry, Rinoa, I'm just as confused as you.

Sniffing, the old woman looked up at the sorceress and knight. "I-If it would help… I could tell you who's responsible for…everything that's been happening to you." She wiped

her eyes. "You were going to find out anyway." She swallowed. "It's NORG—the former owner of Balamb Garden. He's the one that's been possessing everyone. He's the one trying to

control everything."

"That bitch!" The man hissed under his breath as he lowered the directional audio antenna. The scowl on his face could have melted lead. "That does it! Are you ready?" He

turned to the robed figure lying beside him—flat against the highest deck on the spine running the length of Galbadia Garden's upper decks.

"I am." The figure rasped.

"No on double-crosses me, and lives." He growled. "You remember what to do?"

The figure was still. "I do."

The stolen body bared its teeth. "Alright. I want her to pay! Don't screw up!" 

"I won't."

Rinoa closed her eyes. All this? All this for one man's ambition? She felt Squall's presence behind her. So much death, so much pain and loss. All because of Norg?

As her knight's gloved hand touched her shoulder, her eyes snapped open again. "Alright." She released the glowing sapphire and it hung in the air before her. "I'll do it." He's the one

responsible for all this… A strange tension seemed to be gathering, like electricity in the air before a lightning bolt. Rinoa gestured, and her magic-channeling array detached itself from

the old sorceress and flew to her shoulders. 

Squall stood beside his sorceress, one fist clenched at his side, the other squeezing the hilt of his sword. That damned Shumi. His teeth ground together. We'll find him.

The uneasy air crackled with the sorceress's anger. Shifting patterns of color washed across the finely worked stone of her magical wings. She turned a pair of glowing amber eyes

upon the hunched old woman. "When I finish." A spectral echo dogged her words. "You will tell me where to find Norg."

Selphie's hair was standing on end—and not just from the energy of the gathering storm of sorcery. She had never seen Rinoa act this way before. The transformation the friendly,

upbeat girl had undergone sent chills racing down her spine. The sorceress seemed to radiate anger and power as she directed her attention to the hovering gemstone. Beside her, Squall

seemed dark and unapproachable—the forbidding knight of a mighty sorceress. She sneaked a worried glance at Irvine, noting the concerned expression on his face.

The sensation was strange to Rinoa; this stirring of her powers in anger. Before, when she had destroyed the sniper in Deling she had acted on instinct. When she had lifted the

Galbadian submarines from the ocean she had been acting out of desperation. But now… Now she could feel the way the primal powers boiled in tune with her rage—the same

energies that had formed the very world were resonating to her silent screams. But… But something held her back. Like smoldering embers stoked into flame, Rinoa could feel a

presence here fanning the flames of her anger, but—as she reached out to the sparkling sapphire with invisible fingers—she knew that it was not the gem that angered her so. Her face was

an iron mask to the outside world, but inwardly, she frowned. There was something wrong with the Sapphire Dream, she could feel it. Gently, her sorcery prodded the gem. 

Squall's eyes watered as a bolt of purple lightning arced from his sorceress's fingertips to the hovering jewel. 

Invisibly, Rinoa pursed her lips, she could still feel the fury burning at the back of her mind, but her curiosity was now aroused. Something inside the gem was calling out,

beckoning to her. She tapped it lightly with her magic.

Selphie and Irvine were forced to shield their eyes from the brilliant flash as magical energy burst from Rinoa's fingertips and exploded around the Sapphire Dream.

Now Rinoa was genuinely intrigued, what was that inside the gemstone? She bottled up her anger, sending tendrils of sorcery to surround the gem. Is there some way to open

it? Is it possible to see inside…? Her eyes were open and glowing, but Rinoa was no longer seeing through them. Instead, she held the giant sapphire in her mind's eye. Slowly, its

sparkling enigma seemed to dim. Oh no…wait… what are you? Where are you go— Darkness erupted from the gem.

Rinoa screamed as a wave of midnight detonated from the gemstone, engulfing her with a roar. Somewhere in the maelstrom of black she heard a clear note ringing as a bell as

Squall's blade struck the pulsing gem. 

The tempered steel blade shattered against the jewel. Waves of darkness arced along its hilt, up Squall's arms, and into his mind. The nightmare scoured him of it all; guardian

forces, spells, junctions, everything. The world disappeared and the knight collapsed.

Instinctively, Rinoa tried to push the questing darkness from her mind with blazing white fire, but that too was swallowed. 

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the darkness retreated, the night coalescing back into the Sapphire Nightmare. The last concentric wave of dark energy was sucked into the

gem, it cracked and dropped to the deck.

As Rinoa collapsed, her breath fled her body with a whisper. "Hyne."

…

The mist drifting between the dark columns of the stately oak trees seemed to glow faintly. The cool gray light filtering through the vapors gave the impression of twilight, though one could not have said whether it be morning or night. The ethereal fog flowed slowly over the forest mosses, directionless, yet purposeful. Tiny swirls of clear air trailed the silent trees as the river of moist air passed between them—like water between the pillars of ancient wooden bridges.

"Rinoa… Rinoa, come here, child." The mist rippled and broke around the sorceress as she sat upright under the cool dim shadows of the trees. 

One hand absently brushed a few dark hairs from her face as Rinoa slowly pushed herself to her feet. "…Edea?" Her hand, finished with her hair, remained at her temple. _What is this place? What happened?_ Rinoa frowned as she tried to concentrate. Hadn't she just been doing something important? She could feel the sensation of… _…what? What was I doing? Why am I here?_ The sorceress found herself staring at the slow progression of the thin layer of fog flowing only inches from the ground. The ripples and eddies caused by the silent blue ferns of the forest floor were hypnotizing. The sense of urgency, the sense that she was supposed to be doing something important slowly dimmed.

"Come to me, Rinoa." The quiet cadence of the former sorceress's voice carried through the misty air.

Something wasn't right about this. Something about Edea, there was a reason she couldn't be here, but the damp earthy smell of the forest gently eased the worry from Rinoa's mind. She took a step forward. The spongy carpet of moss beneath her feet silenced her footfall.

Rinoa didn't know where she was headed, but something told her she would reach her destination no matter which way she traveled. As she walked, Edea Kramer's voice continued to talk to her. 

"Oh, dear child, I am so sorry. I never knew what a burden my powers would be to you." The woman's tone was quiet and soothing. Rinoa closed her eyes as she continued forward. "I thought they were only a curse to myself. I thought that, to you, sorcery would be a gift, a wonderful opportunity—as it once was to me." Rinoa wanted to speak, to let Edea know that it was okay—for she felt that everything was okay now—but she continued on in silence. "I was mistaken, child. Please forgive me. Now I see that our powers—wonderful as they may seem at first—are, in truth, a terrible burden." 

Rinoa's eyes opened. She had arrived. Before her, in a round clearing so small that the leaves of the surrounding trees still maintained a dark canopy against the dim light above, stood twelve stone markers. The twelve blocks of weathered rock were arranged in a circle around a slender black marble pedestal, at the top of which rested a glowing aqua gemstone. A twinge of recognition jotted across Rinoa's mind like distant lightning before vanishing. A wide crack in the otherwise perfect sapphire glowed a sparkling blue and pulsed in time with the sound of Edea's voice. 

"But our burden—heavy as it is, Rinoa—can be lifted from us, if we wish." Rinoa felt a sparkle of hope almost as bright as the lights dancing in the depths of the marred gem. _Something about that sounds so good… but why?_ What was it that Edea was saying? The tiniest frown creased the young sorceress's brow. Something was keeping her from concentrating, something in the tone of Edea's voice—or was it in the swirling patterns of light within that beautifully familiar gem. "Rinoa, child, do you want your burden taken from you?"

"With all my heart." _?_ Rinoa's hand brushed her lips. _Did **I** just say that?_ "How can I be free, Edea?" _…?_

"By the grace of our God, my child, by the grace of the great Hyne." Was it Rinoa's imagination, or were the sparkles from the jewel leaving the confines of their sapphire cage? Her vision blurred and the very air seemed to shimmer.

Rinoa blinked. "Edea?" She shook her head, trying to draw a clear, deep breath, but something more than moist air filled her lungs, slowing her pulse, clouding her mind. "Edea…? But you can't be here… you're…" The sorceress fought the fuzzy shimmers behind her eyes.

"Please, Rinoa… you don't have to worry any more. Just let yourself go. Let the power of Hyne make everything alright." The voice was soothing. It filled Rinoa's ears and smoothed her fears. 

And yet… _Wait!_ Suddenly, Rinoa knew."Edea! You can't be here! You're… you're dead." The sorceress found herself standing directly before the sapphire, her hand inches from its surface. She gasped, drawing her hand away and stepping back from the gem. "What…?" Tiny sparkles surrounded her, like twinkling stars.

The light inside the cracked jewel pulsed again, this time with a new voice. "Please… mother..." Rinoa took a second step back—this time in shock—as she recognized the speaker. A seeming eternity ago she had heard her, buried within the tones of the sorceress Edea's speech in her room on the upper floors of the presidential mansion in Deling, and again, hidden within the folds of Ultimecia's strange words so many years in the future. It was the voice of her daughter. "…it doesn't have to be this way. Things don't have to turn out the way they will. Just please, please…" The voice sounded as if its owner were near tears. "…let Hyne set things right."

Was her vision dimming? Had the sky grown darker? Everything was confused, her surroundings impossible to make out. The memory of what had happened to Edea had cleared her mind for a brief second, but now it was all gone again. _Are they right? Are they even who they say they are? Have they even said who they are? What's going on?_ Rinoa pressed her palms to the sides of her face as she shook her head—actually, she twisted her entire upper body back and forth. _What should I do? What can I do?_

The clearing had not grown darker, rather, the blues and grays had vanished. A black stream of tainted air now swept around the stone markers. The bloody red glow of a forest burning fell from the holes in the canopy of leaves overhead. "Enough of this, foolish sorceress!" Rinoa knew the dark, ragged voice was that of the Estharian sorceress, Adel. "Do you want to be sealed by frightened idiots, as I was? Do you want to know how I have existed for the past seventeen years?" Though her feet were firmly planted on the ground, Rinoa felt as if she were plunging down a deep hole as icy coils of a horrible sensation wrapped themselves around her chest. "Do you want everyone to hate and fear you as they did me, as they did Edea, as they will, your daughter?"

Rinoa wanted to scream, but her throat was frozen. The world was spinning like a carnival ride gone mad. The twinkling stars were now burning buzzing embers of malevolent fairies. They surrounded her, compelling her toward the glowing sapphire. Underfoot, the ground trembled and the roaring of great winds filled the air.

The new voice was even more horrible than that of the evil Estharian sorceress. If the screams a thousand hearts make when true love is lost could be captured for a thousand years, and the very noise wrung from the air and rendered down into black liquid torment, the voice now speaking would be the sound of that terrible brew as it lay boiling in the fires of hell.

"Sorceress… my descendant," The last word was nearly a curse, but even the most wondrous words would be the vilest of curses if spoken by this tongue. "Your time has come and gone." The sorceress wanted to cover her ears, but her hands remained pressed to her face—too frightened to move. "My time is now." Rinoa finally did scream, but the sound of it was lost in the howling fury of the bloody motes filling the air around her. She turned to run, but only stumbled into one of the dark stone markers. 

As she caught herself up against it, the sorceress's fingers pressed into the smooth channels of an engraving hewn out of the rock. She glimpsed the symbol a moment before the shock hit her—carved into the cool rock was the outline of a lion's head.

A single tear fell from his wide-open eyes. That slight, gentle smile graced the smooth features of his face. He fidgeted and frowned as she played with his stiff and uncomfortable collar. A spatter of his blood fell to the ground under the knight's black blade. A shock of brown hair and twin green orbs greeted her as the light revealed the space suit's occupant. 

His arms wrapped her in an embrace that stopped time forever.

The fury of the storm could not touch her, it could not disturb her, she was safe, she was not alone, she was loved. 

Rinoa stood, a hint of the stone's coolness fading from her palm. She raised a hand to the whirling maelstrom and spoke a single word in reply to its howls: "No." Then she vanished.

…

Blinded, silenced, and disoriented, Selphie held perfectly still. The spells tugging at her mind screamed at her to attack something, to flail out before she was struck, but experience told her to wait for the magic to wear off lest she hurt herself or her friends in her confusion. It took every ounce of discipline she had to wait quietly in the empty darkness after witnessing Squall and Rinoa struck down, but she knew she must. Her Ensuna spell flashed only milliseconds after the silence wore off. 

Rachel was standing over Rinoa's still form, screaming. "You insolent little bitch! How **dare** you refuse your powers to our **god**!" She raised a hand surrounded by glowing magic, preparing to cast it down on the helpless sorceress.

"Rachel! NO!" The striking bar of Selphie's Crescent Wish was in the air before the shout left her lips, it caught the ancient sorceress a mighty blow to the back of the head, yet she barely staggered at all. Selphie gasped as the woman turned to face her, for the wrinkled old sorceress was changing before her very eyes. 

"What the hell?" Irvine had recovered seconds after the other SeeD, and was now staring dumbfounded at the transforming woman. 

The sorceress's cracked and dirty fingernails smoothed and elongated, coloring into the deep red of blood. The knobs on her knuckles and liver spots on her skin vanished to be replaced by smooth, perfect flesh. The sorceress's permanent hunch disappeared as she straightened to a height impossible for the old woman they had known as Rachel. Her drab robes fuzzed to vapor, revealing a long dress darker than the starless night. Her now ruby lips and lilac eyes blurred as she shook the old woman's short, chopped gray hair out until it dropped to her waist, the gray paling to pure white.

Selphie might have shifted her attack to the tall sharpshooter next to her after he whistled appreciatively had he not squeezed the trigger of the Exeter, sending a blazing round of Pulse ammo straight to the sorceress's heart. The shot was stopped cold by an iridescent wall of black magic that suddenly appeared around the two sorceresses and knight. "Begone, pests!" She flicked one dark-nailed finger at them, and an invisible force sent the two SeeDs flying. Irvine struck the railing around the edge of the upper deck with a "Whoof." He repeated himself a moment later as Selphie's motion was arrested by his stomach.

The transformed sorceress dropped the arm she had been holding over Rinoa, and the feathers of a reviving spell drifted down from thin air. "Get up! Face your **maker**!" Her voice had transfigured as well, but it's new ivory chime still dripped malice.

The gap had narrowed, but it was still a long, long way across. Zell grimaced as he surveyed the stretch of water separating the two disabled gardens. _Come on, Zell. You're not gonna chicken out now. This is your big chance to save the day!_

Standing half out of the hatch to the uppermost crawlspace in Balamb Garden, Zell was treated to a view unlike anything he had ever seen before—or was likely to see again. Before him, a giant spine-like support beam stretched from B-Garden's upper decks, down to the garden's stern. Near the rear of the floating academy, the support's surface curved skyward before terminating abruptly, dozens of feet above the confused chop of the ocean surface. Beyond that, Galbadia Garden rested—quite a bit lower in the water than its Balamb counterpart. A huge gash had been carved into the red garden's sweeping decks, and its sides were dented and streaked with the paint from the blue garden's hull.Further out to sea, the towering cloud from the strange explosion was slowly beginning to disperse to the south on the freshening breeze.

Zell's left hand was wrapped tightly around the rail of his liberated T-Board as it hummed quietly beside him. Beneath the padded armor of his gauntlet, the SeeD could feel his palms sweating. Even with Float, even with the northerly breeze, even with the height difference between the two gardens, he had no confidence that his plan would be anything more than very creative suicide—as Iris had pronounced it upon hearing his scheme.

_Speaking of Iris…_ Zell gazed downward—towards the Quad. An antlike figure was waving at him. _I'm sorry Iris. Man! What a bunch of interruptions!_ It had not been the type of reunion Zell had planned upon. _Giant explosions, gales, tidal waves, and now this!_ Zell frowned. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the tiny figure below might have just blown him a good-luck kiss. He flushed slightly—just in case. _But I can't sit this one out. Those guys need me! _Letting the T-Board drop to the smooth surface of the support beam, the blond mercenary grinned as he shrugged, adjusting the straps holding the large case to his back. _Besides, I've **always** wanted to try this!_

Under the influence of the reviving spell, Rinoa returned from the nightmarish world. "Squall!" She had barely gained her feet before she was at the side of the motionless knight. To her relief, his eyes opened at the touch of her hand on his. The slightest hint of a smile brushed his lips at the sight of his sorceress. It was a smile that belonged somewhere else, long from now and far from here and so was destined to vanish as reality quickly intruded, darkening Squall's expression as his eyes shifted from those of his love to the albino-haired witch.

At that moment the tall sorceress's mouth was open as she drew breath to speak, Selphie and Irvine were untangling from where the spell had thrown them and Rinoa was kneeling with her back to the other sorceress. All froze at the sound of whistling air and a rather peculiar battle cry.

"AIEEEEEEE!!!" The transformed sorceress glanced up just in time to see the underside of a T-Board fill her sky. At the last possible instant, she raised a hand.

Zell felt his uncontrollable plummet abruptly cease as a mysterious force lofted him skyward. A moment later, he was rolling across the deck of Galbadia Garden, his T-Board careening over the edge of the academy and into the water below. Only a flying tackle from the two other SeeDs prevented Zell from following it.

The chiming of the tall sorceress's voice was marred with discordant anger as she turned to face the three SeeDs. "Fools! Idiots!" Her eyes flashed. "You defy me?! You are **nothing**!" 

The friends had untangled themselves and now stood to face the angry witch. Though her weapon was poised for action, Selphie tried one last time to reason with the sorceress. "Rachel, I don't understand… why are you doing this?!" 

The woman's white hair glinted in the dim sunlight as she threw her head back. Her laugh was completely devoid of humor. "I am the Sorceress Sera. I am Hyne's Right Hand." She brought a stare colder than the arctic night to bear on Selphie. "You have no right to question my motives."

Suddenly, the brunette SeeD found herself muted once again. She turned to Irvine and gestured toward her mouth. 

Totally ignoring the sorceress standing before him, the sharpshooter grinned and scratched his head. "Something wrong, darlin'?" 

Selphie's eyes blazed and she cocked her wrist, preparing to fling the Crescent Wish at her easygoing beau. 

"Yikes!" Irvine saved himself by quickly casting Ensuna on the perky mercenary. "Uh, I didn't know she had muted ya, babe. Honest!" 

From behind raised fists, Zell glanced over his shoulder at the two SeeDs. _Come on, guys! Be serious! This witch means business!_ He lowered his guard just long enough to cast Triple on himself.

Selphie had commenced kicking at Irvine's ankles even while casting reflect spells on the both of them. "You knew damned well what she had done, you big jerk! Why, if she wasn't—" Her words were cut off in mid-sentence. 

"Silence!" Sera shouted, as a wave of black sorcery erupted from her hands, burning away the protective magic around the SeeDs and knocking them to the ground. "Foul creatures! You are not fit to speak in **Hyne's** presence!"

Zell was back on his feet almost immediately. "Oh man! That **does** it! One beat-down for another power-mad sorceress coming right up!" 

"Zell, hold on a sec!" Selphie brushed herself off before turning to the sorceress. "Sera, Rachel, whoever you are; before we take you down—like we've done to every other sorceress who ever challenged SeeD—tell me: was all that stuff about the future—about SeeD and Ultimecia—was it all just a load of crap or what?"

Rather than answer, the tall sorceress's head had bowed. Her hair had fallen over her face, hiding it from view. Above, the morning sky had turned dark and stormy; green-and-purple clouds now roiled overhead. The damaged supports of Galbadia garden groaned as the massive structure shifted under the rolling of the gray, oily swell that had appeared on the surface of the ocean. Slowly, Sera's black stiletto heels left the quivering tiles as she rose into the air. Behind her, the giant cracked Sapphire mimicked her powers of levitation.

"Oooh." Irvine waved the fingers of his left hand before his eyes in mock-fright before lowering the Exeter and turning to Selphie. "Don't think she's gonna tell us, hon." He faced the levitating sorceress. "So long, pardner." He tipped his hat as he began to fade away. Selphie grinned maliciously and stuck out her tongue as she too began to vanish before the summoning of the Guardian Force. Zell managed to make an obscene gesture before he disappeared from view.

High above the sorceress Sera, the swirling clouds parted around the gigantic bulk of the Guardian Force. The very air seemed to throb as Eden slowly descended from the sky. From under her bleached veil, glowing ruby slits appeared between Sera's eyelids. The slits widened and her hair flew back as she raised her face to the descending GF.

The scream was not the sorceress's own. The deep crack in the Sapphire Nightmare flashed with the sound of the creator of the planet and Hyne's terrible voice rang out across the sky. 

Like a Christmas tree ornament of blown crystal, Eden shattered. Sparkling in the dull storm light, billions upon billions of shards of stained glass rained from the sky as the Guardian Force exploded in a brilliant flare of blue light.

Wrenched back into this world, Selphie, Irvine, and Zell stumbled and fell to the ground as the cold emptiness in their minds where the Guardians had once resided overwhelmed them. Zell felt like he was drowning in a sea of ice water. Shock after shock of darkness washed over him as he felt the magic torn from his mind, severing junctions, blasting away all the crutches the SeeDs relied upon to ensure that they remained the world's most powerful warriors.

"Your insolence has gone on long enough." Hyne's voice, no longer the shriek that had demolished the Guardian Force but still painful to the ear, burst from the sorceress's lips. A howling whirlwind of Unholy magic roared around her upraised hand, her glowing pupil-less red eyes burning into the souls of the fallen SeeDs. "Now…" The cyclone of darkness seemed to reach hungrily for the SeeDs. "…die." 

For a moment, the white-haired sorceress seemed to hang, transfixed in the beam of light, her dark dress and black magic standing out in sharp relief against the nova-like brilliance. Then, with an almost inaudible cry, the darkness was extinguished and she vanished in the river of energy. 

Rinoa lowered her arm and the light faded to bright green afterimages projected on the insides of everyone's eyelids. "Leave my friends alone."

The sorceress Sera had fallen to one knee. As a statue she knelt; frozen to the ground, one hand on the tiles beneath her, a cascade of white again hiding her face. 

Lines of resolution stood sharply against her cheeks as Rinoa took a step toward the collapsed form of the sorceress. "You're the one behind everything." Again, the raven-haired sorceress's voice carried a stern spectral echo. Again, she felt the anger boiling deep within her being. This time, there was nothing to restrain it. "You hid it from me so well, but I know what this is all about now." _My God… what this witch was trying to do…_ Her chest tightened as a ghost of what she had felt when confronted with the creator of the world brushed across her skin. There were no words to describe the nature of Hyne. In that brief, brief instant she had been exposed to the horrific entity, she had tasted the mind of a demon, she had witnessed a consciousness with thoughts so black as to make all the love and compassion that ever existed meaningless. Even as she felt her powers of sorcery stir, she was repulsed by their connection to this being of darkest hate. _No! Impossible that I am anything like that… **thing**!_ She gritted her teeth. _Impossible!_

Overhead, the dark low clouds boiled madly, swirling in chaotic patterns. The sky seemed to split apart as a jagged fork of purple lightning sundered the vault. The black sea beat against the sides of the red garden in white-capped frenzy. The rising gale caused Rinoa's dark locks to whip about her face as an angry amber glow encircled her palms. "It won't work, Sera." Rinoa shook her head. "Hyne will never be released. I am not strong enough to break her sapphire prison, and neither are you!"

…

Balamb Garden was still drifting away from its Galbadian counterpart and the suddenly-choppy ocean wasn't making things any better.

"That's it! Console is showing green, hold it there!" Garden pilot, Higinio Katsaros, released the button on the microphone duct-taped to the control rod and turned to address Xu. "We're ready to give it a try, Sir."

The senior SeeD officer and De Facto garden commander tore her eyes away from the spectacle of the storm raging over Galbadia Garden long enough to nod to the Class-A SeeD. "Alright. Take it very slow, we have no idea what condition the drive system is in." _Didn't need to say that… Higinio's been working with the techs downstairs ever since we had the burnout. He knows how to handle this._ She thought about apologizing but then bit down on her lip. _Come on, Girl! Concentrate!_

The SeeD commander started slightly as the student manning the public address system spoke. "Orders for the boarding crews, Sir?" 

Lances of discolored lightning danced across the water separating the two gardens and the wind howled around roughly-caulked corners of the observation window. Xu's lips twisted slightly into a disapproving grimace. "Keep them inside until we're within range of the grappling cannon."

"And the transports, Sir?" The student's hand hovered over the transmitter. A few hydrofoils still had working controls.

Xu shook her head. "Keep them in the garage on standby. It's too rough—I won't risk an assault boat capsizing." She turned her eyes back to the gathering storm, making a conscious effort to keep her hands motionless at her sides. _If only Cid… …I have no idea how to handle this!_

…

The leather of Squall's gloves creaked quietly as he flexed his empty hands. He felt naked useless, standing, unarmed, beside his sorceress. Hot and cold charges seemed to race across his muscles as he felt Rinoa's anger spilling over to himself. He wasn't quite sure what was occurring between the two sorceresses but the rage crackling between the white tips of his love's wings was indication enough of the enemy present.

The yellow glow from Rinoa's hands illuminated Sera's haughty sneer as she slowly stood. Behind her, the knotted violet ropes of waterspouts danced devilishly across the ocean. She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she spoke. "You are so very blind, little sorceress. It is a pity your eyes will never have a chance to be opened."

Squall felt his teeth begin to grind, but he was distracted by a shout.

"Squall! Catch!" Zell had been the first to recover—as much as one could after the terrible shock of having one's mind stripped clean of magic and guardian forces. The shocking loss had, however, caused him to remember something rather important. After pushing himself to his feet, he had staggered—through the rising gale—to the long black case he had carried across the gap between gardens. 

_Lucky this didn't fall in the drink._ Goosebumps had covered Zell's arms as he snapped open the catches and lifted the lid—revealing the felt-lined interior. Without his strength junctions, the weapon had seemed strangely heavy as he pulled it from the case, the oily smell of the greased and cleaned chambers and barrel tugged away by the wind before it could reach the SeeD's nostrils. The blade had glinted in the dull stormy light as the blond SeeD swung it sidelong in an arc across his body. With a warning shout, Zell released his hold on the revolver handle.

Squall caught the spinning gunblade with practiced ease, his fingers sliding around the molded grip even as he thumbed off the safety catch. He swung the training weapon in two experimental slashes before settling on the balls of his feet beside his sorceress, holding the weapon, blade facing the pale-haired woman, in a two-handed grip.

Rinoa had spared Squall a sidelong glance, her pupils appearing in the amber orbs for a second, but her lips remained set in a stern line. "Ready?"

Squall's eyes narrowed. "Ready."

The young sorceress turned back to Sera. "Whatever you were planning, you failed." Underfoot, the entire garden seemed to be vibrating. Tiles shaken loose in the collision chattered around the ragged edges of the great gash in the garden's upper decks. "You've killed thousands of people—ruined so many lives—for nothing."Rinoa's words might have been sorrowful, but her voice was not, rather it still shook with anger. "It's over. It ends here." The air was cooling rapidly. Frost crept across the deck beneath the dark-haired sorceress's feet even as the fire she held in her hands burned bright. "You'll never hurt anyone ever again." 

Sera laughed, her voice her own once again. "You are mistaken, little girl." She shook her head, raising one long-nailed finger to her lips. "It does not end here. It does not end now." Cheeks dusted with just the lightest hint of blush puffed slightly as she exhaled across her fingertips. As faces are revealed when dust flies from a photograph, so too did the small red ruby appear out of thin air—hovering inches above the sorceress's fingertip. "But you are correct about one thing." Sera raised her right hand to the gem. "I won't hurt anyone…" She twisted the air around the ruby. "You will."

Squall saw it a moment before it happened. He saw the way the ruby sparkled under Sera's flashing eyes; saw the way the identical gemstone set into his sorceress's wings twinkled; saw the confusion in her eyes as she turned toward him; saw himself shift the gunblade aside, baring his chest to the fiery sorcery crackling at her fingertips; saw the horrified recognition in Rinoa's eyes as Sera controlled her like a marionette. 

It happened in an instant "No…!" but there was still time for a tear to fall from Rinoa's eye. 

If there was time for her tear, there was time for his smile. _I love you._ Is what it said.

It didn't really happen, of course. _The universe isn't this cruel._ No, it couldn't happen. The burning sorcery didn't really tear from her fingers and explode against him. He didn't really vanish in the searing fire meant for the sorceress Sera. _I'm going to wake up soon. I'll be lying beside him and he'll already be awake with that little smile on his face… _Someone wasn't really screaming his name; Irvine, Selphie, and Zell weren't really charging the white-haired sorceress. She wasn't even real. Rinoa wasn't whirled about like a puppet on a string to unleash another devastating spell on her friends. _No, I'm going to wake up in a moment and he'll be asking me what I was dreaming. I'll tell him it was just something silly that could never happen, then he'll frown, he'll say: 'Rinoa, what was it?' because he knows that this isn't just another silly nightmare, and he'll see how afraid I am that it could be real… and, oh god, it can't be real… it's not real! It's not! IT'S NOT! **IT'S NOT! Oh god, Squall!!**_

"Open your eyes, Sorceress!" She had no choice. Sera was several feet away, but—at the same time—she was inside Rinoa. "I want you to see what you are doing." The tall sorceress shook her head. "You cared for these fools so much… you were so polluted by them… you need to see, you need to know—before you die—just how instrumental you were in ridding the world of all their impurity."

Rinoa didn't know—didn't care—if she was standing or sitting. She tried not to see the bodies, but a cruel twist of Sera's hand forced her to face their fallen forms.

"You could have been a deity, child. You could have been servant only to the one true God." Sera shook her head. "You could have saved anyone you pleased, but now… now you will kill them. You will kill them all."

Rinoa said nothing. She couldn't, she couldn't even blink.

The dark sorceress tapped her lips with a finger. "You are right; you aren't strong enough to free Hyne… none of us are… yet." She tilted her head to the side. "But, did you ever wonder how it was that you saved your silly little knight from the time compression?" Sera's smile was not at all pleasant. "Oh yes, I know about that. Why do you think I chose **you**, sorceress? Hyne has allowed me to live for a thousand years, waiting. I could wait a thousand more, if need be." She shook her finger. "But… but… you have provided the answer well ahead of its time." She paused as if to reflect on her words. "I am a sorceress of darkness and death, Adel was a sorceress of hell and poison, Edea was a sorceress of light and ice, and you… you are a sorceress of heaven and **time**." Her fingers traced glowing characters in the air around the ruby she held. "With your power, I **shall** find a time with sorceress strong enough to break our God's prison!" She paused only a second. "And now, child, the power Hyne has granted you will serve her once again!"

…

"Whaaat…?!" SeeD Cadet Yvonne Hovo snapped as she pulled her head out from under the wind proofed cowling thrown over the mobile grappling cannon's controls. "Can't you see that I'm busy…?" In the space of one second, she took in the strobing green light washing over the Balamb Garden from a source somewhere on the decks of Galbadia Garden, the large nasty-looking pike-like weapon, and the face of Cid Kramer—headmaster of her SeeD academy. He did not look happy. "…uh, Sir." She amended belatedly.

His response was not what she expected. "Are we in range?" His voice seemed strained almost to the breaking point.

Yvonne gulped. "Uh, barely, Sir." Without thinking, she began to protest as the headmaster shoved her aside, reaching for the controls of the boarding device. "But, headmaster, you can't seriously be thinking of crossing… sir, the wind!" 

Xu's head snapped around at the dull whumping sound. "What? I didn't give the order to board the garden! Which station is that?"

The student manning the communications console held one hand over his microphone—listening to the voice on the other end of the closed-circuit line as he spoke. "Four, mam, er, Sir." He stuttered. "They say that headmaster Kramer just went over the side!" 

"What!?" Xu was dumbfounded.

"Sir?" Higinio's hand hovered over the drive controls. 

Xu waved her hand. "Hold position! Hold position! We can't risk snapping the line!" She turned back to the student. "Tell me when they report he's cleared, and for Hyne's sake, tell them not to send anyone else over!" _Oh, god, headmaster, what are you **doing**!?_

…

The glass in Seifer's hand shattered under the pressure of his suddenly-rigid fingers. He didn't notice, nor did he notice the blood seeping from under his nails as his fists balled. _Could it be…?_

…

Rinoa could not scream. Though it felt like it was her core being ripped asunder along with the fabric of time, she could not make a noise as the sorcery being torn from her forced the brilliant green rift—hanging in midair before her—wider. As she had on the back of the Naso, she could feel the magic sapping her strength, but now it was not her decision to supplant her waning magical powers with her own life-force, but that of the sorceress with eyes of frozen amethyst. At long, long last—when she was certain she had no more strength to give, compelled or otherwise, Sera placed her palm flat against the ruby and the flow of sorcery stopped. If she could have, Rinoa would have undoubtedly collapsed. Instead, she was held upright by cruel magical talons.

"Now, sorceress, before I depart for my own brave new world, I shall send you on to the next one as well." Sera laughed, grasping the ruby and holding it high. In tandem with the motions of the china-haired sorceress, Rinoa felt her right arm dragged skyward. "They're not dead… not yet." Sera had stepped up behind her and was motioning to the fallen forms of Squall, Selphie, Irvine and Zell. "Know that you killed them, sorceress Rinoa." She hissed. "Know that, the moment you stepped out of the sorceress memorial, you killed everyone and everything you've ever loved." 

Rinoa hung, feet dangling a few inches above the ground ,exhausted tears staining her cheeks. _I'm so, so sorry, everyone. I didn't mean to let you down._ She knew that the white flames building at her fingertips would extinguish her life just as surely as they would Irvine's, Selphie's, Zell's, and her love's. For a moment, that knowing smile flashed before her eyes, a bittersweet hallucination. _Squall…_ She felt her hand begin to descend.

A discordant chime split the air accompanied by a buzzing whine as the bullet struck the ruby from Sera's upraised hand. The jewel fell to the cracked and blackened tiles with the sound of clinking wineglasses. Spinning and skittering across the slick surface, it paused on the lip deck before plummeting into the dark ocean. Rinoa fell bonelessly to the ground, the magic fading from her fingertips.

Dahyte blinked away the film that had dried over her eyes as she chambered a second round. Nestling the rifle between the spiky scales beginning to take over her forearm and the blotchy dying skin that still remained, she took careful aim. A swollen tongue traveled across cracked and dried lips. "What are friends for?" A painful half-breath later, the weapon barked and kicked against the tough plates that now covered her shoulders. 

The second bullet ricocheted off of thin air, inches from Sera's upraised finger. "So many **pests**!" A lance of midnight leapt from her finger and exploded into black void as it reached the spot from which the firing had come. Reaching out with her left arm, she drew an oval in the air. Within the invisible edges of her tracings, the air began to ripple and shimmer. "Knight, to me! I have need of you!" 

Every muscle ached, no, that wasn't right, Zell thought. Every muscle screamed. It felt as if he had just been thrown into a running dryer filled with bowling balls and thumbtacks. It even hurt to open his eyes. The green light that stabbed into his retinas was like a laser beam, burning into his aching head. Still, he forced his eyelids open wider, ignoring the pain as he forced himself up onto one arm. The scene before him was terrible to behold. Scant feet away, the silver blade of Squall's weapon canted at an angle to where its tip had lodged in the deck, beside it, the knight's form lay quiescent, arms flung wide by the force of the explosive sorcery that had ravaged him. His face was turned from Zell. 

Just beyond the motionless knight, Rinoa seemed nothing but a small blue pile of fabric as she lay, curled where she had fallen. Even as Zell slid one twinging arm beneath him—preparing for an attempt at gaining his feet, he saw the young sorceress stir. It was not Rinoa's motion that captivated his attention, however, but rather the long, black blade that slipped from the second distortion in space Sera had created. The dark weapon was followed through the porthole by the tattered hem of a cream-colored trench coat, a black glove, the symbol of the fire cross, and a pair of cruel blue eyes as Seifer emerged from thin air.

Sera allowed a small smile to creep across her lips as she watched the foolish young sorceress crawl to the side of her fallen knight. She delighted in the look of fear in Rinoa's eyes as she slowly proclaimed her death sentence. "Now, my knight. Finish them." _Yes, sorceress. Now you understand how I have played you from the beginning. Now you see how the final piece of this grand puzzle I have created falls into place._ Her eyes narrowed and her smile widened. Rinoa shrank back as the knight turned to face the dark-haired sorceress, gunblade dipping toward the ground in preparation for the final slash. "You were always my pawn, sorceress. Mine and Hyne's." 

Seifer was a coiled spring, the fire burning in his eyes that of a man possessed by his sorceress's power. For only the briefest instant, his eyes might have flickered to the glowing rift in time that hovered in the air—scant meters from where he stood. Rinoa turned away, closing her eyes, her body hunched protectively over that of her knight. Holding him to her one last time, she waited for the final blow.

A whistling scream cut the air as the black gunblade sang with the wind of its passage, then the silence of the world holding its breath. 

Sera's eyes widened, her ruby lips parted, but no sound issued from between her perfect teeth. She was frozen in time, staring down at the black blade piercing her heart. Down an endless trail of midnight steel, two frozen blue eyes flashed with unquenchable fury. "I was… **never**… your knight." Hyperion's thunder shattered the silence as Seifer pulled the trigger.

## [Chapter 12][1]

   [1]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/Chapters/twelve.htm



	12. Metuo

Chapter 12: Metuo

**Chapter 12:**

**Metuo**

The florescent lighting overhead flickered as power surged through the damaged electrical conduits of the garden. A single clawed hand rested on the smooth cool desk. The dying lights of the classroom painted four shadows across the white surface. Cloudy gray orbs contemplated the multiplicity of darkness. 

Hidden rainbows in the illumination granted each scrap of shade a unique tint; red, yellow, green, and purple. _But which one is correct?_ The lipless mouth turned down at the corners. _Who am I, really?_

_Perhaps…_ the sniper's expression turned wry, _perhaps the true question is; what am I?_

This was, of course, not the time for self-reflection. Nor was it the time for inaction. Undoubtedly, right this moment, the forces of good and evil were doing battle a few stories below—on the open decks of the garden. _But which side am I supposed to be on?_ The shadows remained silent. _Green, yellow, red, violet… what does that mean?_ The walls echoed her rasping voice. "It doesn't mean anything, Dahyte." _Except, perhaps, that you are going insane._

At the sniper's exclamation, the possessed man should have looked up. He should have said: "What?" But he didn't. In fact, he said nothing at all; because he was no longer in the classroom to which they had fled—escaping the dark magic of the sorceress.

_Go after him._

She blinked. "I can't…" Dahyte slowly stood, shaking her head at the tiny voice only she could hear. 

_You can. Go after him._

"I'm not, Quistis. I'm not." _My soul is no good.. _"Look." Her words settled into the empty chairs as she pointed a spiked finger. Against one wall, the shadow of the thing the sniper had become lay in a multitude of hues. It's arms, legs, head, and hands all the colors of the rainbow, but at its core, the shadow was black.

Norg was still absent, the room still silent.

_Stop him._

"No…" Her voice was the shadow of a whisper. Cloudy eyes burned in the caustic air beneath the mask. "I'm not the hero." The monster fled, leaving behind her weapon. As the clicking of the monster's claws faded away, the long rifle lay silently, atop its blood-colored shadow.

…

The pale strands of the sorceress's hair colored maroon as it wicked up her dark blood. Spreading across the tiles, the warm liquid seeped around her cheek as she lay facedown where she had fallen. 

Lilac eyes suddenly materialized where there had existed only closed lids and blood dripped from her face and dress as the sorceress Sera pushed herself to her feet. Her gaze fell upon her betrayer. "You!" There was not even time for the trenchcoated knight's face to register surprise before the bolt of dark magic struck him. "And you!" Her baleful stare turned upon Rinoa moments before her sorcery followed suit. 

"No!" The reanimated dark knight's scream was abruptly cut-off as he threw himself into the path of the furious darkness lashing at the raven-haired sorceress.

The blood trailed upon Sera's face twisted as she spoke—an obscene war paint. "Do you not understand?!" Her voice was clear and sharp—all traces of injury gone from her body. "I am the Great One's right hand! I can never be stopped!" She turned her blazing eyes on the three SeeDs approaching from behind. "I am immortal!"

Yet, despite the bloody sorceress's words, the SeeDs, the knights, the sorceress; they all kept coming. Time and time again she ravaged them with the unholy power granted her by the creator of the world. Time and time again they picked themselves up and pressed forward, weapons at the ready.

_"You did not expect this, did you sorceress?"_

"Great One?" Sera's voice was confused, strained, as another midnight blast erupted from her fingertips. "Help me, my god, help me."

_"But I **am** helping you, sorceress." _The voice was quiet, calm within her mind. _"Helping you see."_

She was still facedown in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes were still closed. She tried to open them, but her body refused to obey. _A vision?_

_"Yes, sorceress. A vision." _The voice paused. _"A vision of what might have been."_

_What might have been? _Sera was unsure if her lips actually moved or if her speech was only in her mind. "Great One, I don't understand… why do you hold me back?"

Something that might have been a laugh echoed in the darkness. _"Because you have failed me, descendant."_

Sera felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature trickle down her spine. "No… Great One, please! I can defeat them! I can—."

**_"YOU HAVE ALREADY LOST, SORCERESS!"_** The still, calm voice in the darkness vanished, replaced by the voice of mountain caverns howling in a midnight gale. **_"You ignored my warnings and brought the knights into this! It was then that you failed me!"_**The voice continued. _"**Do you think that you—one of my insignificant creations—could defeat the same power that managed to imprison me**?!"_

Sera could feel the dark spirits from which she drew her power boiling. She trembled at their agitation. "But… Great One, they who imprisoned you, should they not atone by helping to set you free?" 

_"**And so you sought to control one of them? You—who have never had a knight of your own—you thought you could understand him, could control him?!**"_ The blackness raged. _"**Your arrogance has cost me my freedom, sorceress…**"_

Sera could feel the insidious tentacles of the darkness in her mind beginning to spread"My lord, no… wait! Please!" _This can't be! It can't happen this way!_

The voice continued on, undisturbed by the sorceress's pleas. _"**…and now, it will cost you your life!"**_

Sera was dissolving into the night. _Damn you, Hyne! Damn you!_

The thundering darkness was almost amused. **_"Damn me?"_**

She could barely speak, yet the sorceress's tongue still maneuvered for her life. "You'll never find another like me, my Lord. You'll never find another willing to betray her own people to help you with your glorious return."

Sera's world had shrunk to a tiny point—a whisper of a dark god. "_Yes I will, sorceress. I created your kind, I know there will always be ones who can be turned—who will see my world returned to me."_ There was a brief pause._ "But it will not be you."_ Then, without a sound, Sera vanished into the eternal night.

…

"Get up, knight." Seifer's knuckles were white under his gloves as he cast a Full Cure on Squall's motionless figure. He knew Rinoa was looking at him. He felt her eyes as they traveled from his bloodstained weapon to his face, boring into him, seeking an answer. He dared not meet them. 

How it tore at him! He could feel her presence, calling to him, pulling him to her. _She is alive!_ Somewhere, sometime—through the swirling green brilliance of the time portal—Ultimecia's heart still beat. Every cell in his body screamed at him to leave these two and seek her out. Seifer knew if he stepped through the portal and simply thought of a time, thought of a place where she lived, he would see her once more. _But no, my work here is still unfinished. A short time more, love… _He turned away from sorceress and knight as Squall stirred, confident that his former garden rival would soon be fully recovered. _…a short time more, and we will be together at last!_ The branching web of dead flesh strewn across his chest sparked and prickled—as a sleeping limb twinges when blood flow is restored—but Seifer's attention was drawn from the sensations racing across the necrotic tissue by the still figure of the sorceress Sera.

Beneath the body of the sorceress, the spreading pool of red blood was slowly darkening. After a moment, it was the same color as the sorceress's dress. Though green and purple storm clouds still choked the sky above, not a breath of air could be felt on the upper surface of Galbadia Garden—yet the surface of the black blood rippled and undulated.

Selphie—somewhat recovered—and steadying herself on Irvine's shaky arm pointed a finger at the white-haired woman's body and wrinkled her nose. "Ewww! Yuck! She looks like a squished bug!" 

Irvine called from where Rinoa's magic had tossed the SeeDs. "Damn, Rinoa, you shore pack a wallop!" While Irvine's right arm supported both Selphie and his weapon, his left hand was massaging his temples. "But, darlin', next time, shoot the bad guy's, huh?" He nodded gingerly toward Zell. "Hey spiky, did we win yet?"

The blond SeeD cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "I dunno." Raising his fists, he took a hesitant step forward.

"C'mon, Irvy! Let's stomp her some more just to be sure!" Releasing the lanky sharpshooter's arm, Selphie shook out her Crescent wish and—still a little unsteady on her feet—advanced on the prone form of the sorceress, now surrounded by a rippling black pool.

"**Stay back!**" Seifer barked. His authoritative tone stopped the SeeDs in their tracks. "If you want to live, stay out of this."

…

The orange firelight seemed to pulse in time with the throbbing rhythm of the drums. _Boom! Tha-tap tap! Boom! tha-tap tap!_The dancers raised clouds of dust around the great bonfire as they stomped in time to the slow thumping chanting unintelligible phrases in voices deep and rough as the smoky night sky. The ruby eyes and glistening paint on the masks they wore glistened as the sweat on their twisting bodies. Distorted caricatures of monsters—like visions from fever dreams flashed in the flicker of the flames. Occasionally a dancer would break from the circling throng and advance on the kneeling knight menacingly. Here, an Elnoyle approached, the hot breath carrying the chant washing over Squall like the storm wind from the flying monster's mighty wings. The knight's steel green eyes reflected only the flames—not flickering for even an instant—as the dancer screeched at him, flapping his arms before circling back to rejoin the procession.

Her body undulating like an Anacondar, another dancer broke ranks to approach the knight. Dropping the mask she held to her side, the girl's teeth flashed—a glimmer of white in her sooty face. Caught off-guard, Squall blinked. _Rinoa?_ He could not speak. The drums and chanting grew louder, their tempo increasing**._ Boom!Tha-taptap-Boom! tha-taptap!_**Her hair a blur of spidery dreadlocks, the smiling sorceress crouched before Squall, her neck darting forward like a striking snake. Even as he was shocked by the taste of charcoal and ash on his lips, Squall felt Rinoa's fingertips tracing twin lines of greasy war paint down the line of his cheek. 

When she pulled back, the smile had vanished. From sad brown eyes, her tears traced two paths of paleness through the grime on her face. "Only three…" She whispered to him. 

Squall tried a second time to speak, but found himself still mute. The red earth seemed to shake with the pounding of the drums.

Tangled and beaded hair few again as Rinoa glanced fearfully over her shoulder at the circle of dancers before glancing back to Squall. "Time." The bonfire exploded, turning Rinoa and the other dancers into featureless silhouettes in its brilliance, drowning out their voices with its roar. The costume monsters scattered, fleeing the raging inferno. 

Squall was captivated by the flames. As his hand tightened on his gunblade, everything seemed to fall away—except for the dark flames licking up the light at the center of the enormous bonfire.

Something tugged at Squall's mind and the vision ended. In one smooth motion, he was on his feet, facing the bubbling fountain of oily darkness that had enveloped the sorceress Sera. As its tip was drawn from between the tiles in which it had lodged, his gunblade whispered. _Hyne._

The monster's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Lipless mouth hanging open, it panted as it pressed its back and two atrophied winglets against the wall. Slowly, it slid to a sitting position, the pistol it had been holding dropping to the floor with a clatter. Drawing its knees up to its scaled chest, the monster began to shake uncontrollably. _It can't be…_ Dahyte shook her head violently. Still unable to open her eyes she cowered behind the corner. _It… can't be… **here**! _Despite the fearful denials screaming through the transfigured woman's head, there was no denying the presence of the jet-black amorphous creature. There was no denying that the Finger of God had been loosed upon the world. 

Almost forgotten, the cracked sapphire pulsed hungrily as the tip of the oily thing that had enveloped the sorceress Sera slipped toward it. The pool of black liquid skin surrounded the gem, slick tendrils erupting from the amorphous shape, pausing only a moment before knifing into the great rift in the jewel. Abruptly, the fountain of darkness smoothed and swelled, lifting itself more than a dozen feet in the air and swaying, snakelike, before the two knights. The Sapphire Nightmare disappeared into the opaque liquid surface of the thing. 

A warning shudder shook the deck as Galbadia Garden's damaged structure protested the new load on its decks. 

Midnight gunblade pointed steadily from the end of an outstretched arm, Seifer spared a glance at the jacketed figure that had taken up position beside him. "Ready, _knight_ Leonhart?" The hint of a sneer tugged at his lip.

Squall was ready. Ready for what, he knew not—but something; some ancient memory of other knights long forgotten told him that this was part of his destiny. He did not speak.

Before the two knights, the column of living darkness thickened.

"_You'll never be free of me, sorceress."_ Rinoa was frozen where she stood, staring at the Finger of God.

"_No matter how hard you try, no matter how long you last, I will always win—in the end."_ The darkness above the blond and brown haired knights braided and unbraided in agitation.

"Shut up!" Rinoa screamed soundlessly.

Shadowy rainbows played across the thing's surface. "_I am a **God**, sorceress."_

"Shut up!" The voice was acid in her mind. "Why can't you just leave us alone?!" Rinoa's unblinking eyes burned—anger mixed with sorrow and dread. 

"_I_ _call you my descendants, but you are nothing more than pets to me."_ The Finger of God grew larger still, yet the knights made no move to attack it. _"You were an amusement I created for myself. These 'lives' you live, these 'loves' you have—they are all part of my great game."_

Rinoa gritted her teeth. "I don't care! I will… **never**… let you free!"

A hate-filled laugh echoed in the sorceress's mind. _"**You** will never let **me** free? I **am** free, sorceress. It is **you** that are trapped. I go on… **forever**! But you end. You die. Your love dies." _Another shudder ran through the garden. _"In the blink of my eye, you will all be gone."_

A long silence fell, but Rinoa was still held in thrall. 

_"But now, I grow tired of this game, sorceress. Play-fighting your kind, killing your kind, it bores me now." _A short pause. _"So I give you a choice, sorceress; call off your knight, and I will grant you both eternal life, eternal youth."_

"No."

_"Don't be foolish."_

The casket was long, dark, and somber. It seemed to float amidst the sea of flowers spread across the long table on which it lay. Invisible hands propelled her forward. "No! No!" Rinoa tried to close her eyes, to no avail.

_Look._

The face of the body inside was strange to her, but still achingly familiar. Despite the lines of old age, despite the hollowed gauntness of the ravages of time, his creased hawk-like brow, the stern lines of his jaw, the ancient scar still faint across his forehead struck her like physical blows. Eyes closed in peaceful death, the old warrior lay in full fighting attire, his gunblade, chipped, scarred, but polished to a gleaming silver resting at his side. "Squall…" Even as her hands flew to tired eyes filling with tears, Rinoa could feel their weakness. Skin stretched like thin parchment over brittle bones grew damp as she was allowed, at last, to cover her eyes. Wisps of her once-dark hair—now bleached by the wash of years—drifted down over her face like cobwebs.

_"This is the best you can ever hope for, Sorceress." _Hyne's voice whispered into her ear. _"You will become old, you will become ugly, you will become feeble, and then you will die."_ The voice of the god was slow, measured, and familiar—no longer the booming cadence it had once been. _"But I can change all that for you."_

Slowly as a feather, Rinoa's hand drifted down to the cold cheek of the shell of the man she loved. 

_"He doesn't have to die, Sorceress. You can save him. You need not grow old. You can spare yourselves from this horror._"

The upturned face of a red rose caught the sorceress's tear as it fell.

_"Give me the key to my freedom. Allow my hand to pass through the hole you have made in time, and the terrible things you see before you will never come to pass."_

__A long, slow sigh passed the sorceress's ancient lips as her gnarled fingers traced the line of his cheek one last time. "No." A strange shuddering sob shook her frail body. "No, Hyne. It is not so terrible." Rinoa touched the wrinkles around Squall's still lips. _Here… those lines…_ The tiniest of smiles tugged at her old mouth. She could feel the laughter—yet to be—that had left its mark on her Knight's face. _And here…_ She was sure her heart would burst as she traced the crow's feet of ten-thousand secret smiles that would accompany decades of whispered I love you's. The sorceress shook her head. "No. We'll live this life." Slowly, regretfully, her hands left the face of her lover as she backed away from the dark casket. Even as her tears began to dry, Rinoa could feel the strength returning to her hands. Hyne's vision of the future faded to the war-torn deck of Galbadia Garden. "I will not let you free. Not now. Not ever!" 

_"You will regret this, sorceress."_ The voice seemed almost sorrowful.

"No, I won't." Rinoa was herself once again, but the ache left in her heart remained. _Still…_ It was almost a pleasant pain. "You may have created us, Hyne, but we've become more than your creations. We've discovered things greater even than you."

_"There is **nothing** greater than me!"_The exclamation was an echoing shriek that seemed to split the very air. The Garden groaned as it was shaken to its foundation. Before the two knights standing with weapons at the ready, faces began to form in the black ooze. Though the Finger of God was darker than the spaces between the stars, darker still were the voids of eyes, which swam to the surface to the two swaying columns. Terrifying empty mouths appeared, long spike-like teeth gnashing as reverberating screams filled the unsettled skies.

Neither Squall no Seifer moved a muscle as the columns of darkness before them twisted and writhed, pairs of arms tipped with razor-sharp blades erupting from their sides. To the knights, the noises echoing from the thing's cavernous mouths were nothing more than incoherent shrieks, but Rinoa understood the thing's words. _"You are nothing! I will end you all!" _The black, soulless eyes looked past the knights, boring into Rinoa. _"You may live, sorceress, but I will haunt you forever! Time is no master to me! I will destroy your life, and the lives of your children's children's children if you defy me! You will **never** be free of me!"_

The chill of space seemed warm compared to the gaze of the god, but Rinoa did not look away, her brown eyes flashed as she met its stare. "So be it."

Twin columns of darkness howled and exploded toward the dark-haired sorceress.

Two gunblades cut screaming arcs through the air—one silver, one midnight—their passage ripping great rents in the Fingers of God. Squall only had a moment to see Seifer engage his own section of the monster before the giant dark blades of the monster's arms descended upon him. Charged with even more strength and speed than when he had fought the Ruby Dragon in Timber, Squall dodged aside as the attack clove through the hard tile and steel of the deck as if they were nothing but mist. He whirled and his gunblade's tip sang as it whisked through a bubbling joint of darkness, severing one of the oily blades from its arm.

Fetid poison air jetted from the beast's mouth as it roared, and two new swords sprang from the end of the amputated arm. Sparks showered down upon the knight as he swung his weapon above his head, meeting, full-force, the whispering descent of the monster's three blades at once. Faster than a Grendel blinks, a spear of midnight shot from the snakelike torso of the beast, aimed at Squall's heart. The knight was not there to meet it, rather—moving almost faster than the eye could follow—he rolled aside, knocking away the monster's myriad spikes and blades with a backhanded swipe. A crack of thunder rolled across the deck and a round buzzed off into the sky as Squall fired his weapon, the force of the recoil halting the impetus of his blade and allowing him to reverse his strike. Lunging forward, he drove the gunblade—trigger facing upwards—into the monster's side. The weapon sank in almost to the hilt. Gathering himself, Squall ducked under the handle and sprang upward. With a sickening ripping sound, the blade reamed the towering beast—splitting it nearly in half. 

Its mouth torn open, the beast screamed, sword arms melting back into its body. Squall was not given a moment's respite, however, for the serrated blades of the monster's front teeth abruptly elongated and the entire sinuous column descended upon him like a massive spiked club. 

Still recovering from his landing, Squall barely rolled aside in time as the beast thudded to the deck with incredible force. Something deep inside Galbadia Garden gave way and the entire deck, left of the great gash cloven by Balamb Garden's stern, dropped several feet with a rending crash. 

A second head appeared in the mass of liquid darkness even as the beast's giant club blurred—descending upon the knight a second time. Still on his back from the first evasion, Squall sprang to his feet, only to disappear under the second crushing blow. The undulating surface of the giant club smoothed for a moment, then peeled back as a Silver gunblade exploded into the air, followed by the knight. The new head of the monster snapped hungrily at Squall while he was still in the air, and only a desperate snapshot saved him from being consumed as the monster's head recoiled from the force of the bullet and blade striking it. The force of the shot tore the gunblade from Squall's hands, and he landed hard on his back, his weapon skittering across the broken decking. 

A seeming forest of dark blades descended upon the defenseless knight as the Finger of God pressed its advantage. Teeth locked, Squall raised an arm in automatic reaction, but all his para-magic spells had been torn away. The myriad spikes blurred as they darted forward to stab into the knight's body.

Inches from his bared teeth, the razor-sharp darkness evaporated in the brilliant wash of a burst of Holy magic.

Knight Cid Kramer lowered his arm, hand dropping to the grip of the Bec De Corbin. Wordlessly, he charged the roaring tower of darkness. 

Squall retrieved his gunblade and turned in time to see a flower-like arm bloom from the mass of the Finger of God. With petals of tiny writing snakes, the new appendage suddenly darted forward, reaching for Balamb Garden's headmaster, but stopped—transfixed by the spear tip of the old knight's weapon. Strange fire seemed to race over the form of the headmaster and run down the shaft of his weapon. The beast's new arm detonated with a tremendous explosion as the fire touched it. 

The monster recoiled for a moment, giving Squall a chance to glance over toward Seifer. The knight was nothing but a blur of motion surrounded by the crackling purple arcs of his dark weapon as he clove through wave after wave of attacks from sword-arms that endlessly sprouted from the beast. 

A deep groan issued from the fissure in the deck. The Finger of God was growing larger, placing more and more strain on Galbadia Garden's damaged structure. _How is it growing?_ Squall's eyes narrowed as a third column—complete with terrifying jaws and empty eyes—appeared in the undulating liquid night. _…the jewel?_

"HA!" The liquid snake solidified just long enough for Zell to deliver a punishing kick to it's midsection even as he batted away two smaller spiked worms of darkness with his armored fist. A strange tiny face appeared in the thing and wailed at him as it recoiled. It's screams were cut short a second later as the Crescent Wish smashed the things features. "Feeling better, Selph?" Zell shouted as he dodged another spike.

Selphie grinned as she whirled the nunchaku. "Yeah! That elixir did the trick!" She turned. "Thanks, Sweetie-pie!" 

Irvine, nearly out of ammunition, had taken to smashing the dark fluid tendrils with the butt of his rifle as they approached. He turned away from one such appendage of the dark thing and tipped his hat. "Aww, twern't nothing, babe."

As quickly as the grin had appeared on the short SeeD's face, a stormy frown abruptly took its place. "But look what that stupid poison spike did to my dress!!" She kicked a tendril of darkness away as she pulled at the hem of her skirt, displaying the tiny hole to Zell. "Stupid! Nasty! Yucky! Ugly! Dirty! Thing!" The energetic SeeD laid about her with her weapon, smashing protrusions from the small stream of darkness that had trickled away from the main mass of the beast—toward the green glare of the time portal—with each word.

Taking a quick breather, Zell cast a glance at the swirling brilliance of the disturbance. "Are you guy's sure we shouldn't just jump through?" He asked, for the thousandth time.

"Simmer down, thar. We don't even know what the hell that thing is. 'fraid we've been left out o' the loop on this one, Zell." Irvine, laying on a heavy drawl, spat on a flattened black snake for emphasis. "Le's just guard this here thang until Squall or Rinoa tells us just what the hell's goin' on."

Casting a worried glance toward the undulating mass of darkness—from its far side, the SeeDs could discern the flashes of magical discharges from what looked like a good-sized battle—Zell spoke. "But what if… what if those guy's lose?" 

"Um…" Selphie pursed her lips as she turned toward the blond SeeD. "Then, I guess we're all pretty screwed."

"Yup." Irvine squeezed off one of his few precious remaining rounds of Fire Ammo at a thickening trunk of the black living oil.

"Standby cannon." Releasing the transmit button, Xu kept the microphone close to her mouth as she waited for Higinio to give the signal that the garden was stopped. 

At last, he turned. "Full stop, Mam. We're keeping station with Galbadia Garden."

The student monitoring the weather console spoke up. "Winds have gone calm, Mam." 

Xu nodded as she spoke into the transmitter. "Fire!" 

Cordite smoke erupted from catwalks ringing the lower decks as ten heavy grappling lines snaked out towards the damaged red garden. Pointed harpoons broke through the sides of the academy, hooks springing outward as they penetrated the structure, fixing the lines in place. Heavy winches bolted into housings on Balamb Garden's support beams began taking up the slack in the line as a second volley of smaller lines arced across the gap between the floating behemoths. 

Xu turned from the window to face a SeeD seated at another communications console. "Tactical, what's the word on the situation over there?"

Balamb Garden had maneuvered until it could approached its Galbadian counterpart's southeast side—the section showing the least structural damage—and the sail-like tower rising above the open decks of the red garden had blocked the action from view. One of the few jet packs captured in the Galbadian Attack on Balamb Garden—and it's rookie pilot—had been dispatched to give the SeeDs an idea of what they were stepping into.

"Mam, some pretty weird shit is happening over there." The SeeD looked up.

Xu frowned. "That's not very helpful, SeeD." 

"I know, Mam." He shrugged apologetically. "His exact words." He raised a hand as another transmission started coming through. "Just a moment…"

_"Only three, sorceress."_

Sharp edges of broken tiles pricked her legs as Rinoa knelt. She watched with a troubled heart as the knights charged the hand of Hyne again and again. The beast was growing. Somewhere, deep within the manifestation of the god, Hyne was slowly leaking her influence back into the world through the narrow passage of the rift in her sapphire prison. 

_"Only three."_

_She's not free. She's not sure she can win—otherwise she wouldn't bargain with me._ Rinoa didn't move, though her soul cringed as the arc of silver flashing blade disappeared behind a mountain of darkness.

_"You are wrong, sorceress. I only wanted to spare you the pain of death and loss. I see now, that you are not worthy of such a gift."_ The voice was calm once more._ "Long, long ago, I allowed my creations to become strong. I wanted to test myself, define my powers against you, whom I have created. There were twelve knights then..."_

Rinoa drew in a shaky breath. Despite the calm, disinterested nature of the voice of the god in her mind, she could feel the seething hatred, the anger, the will to do harm behind the words.

_"…now there are only three. Do you really think they can stop **me**?"_

"How can this be?" Rinoa whispered to herself. _How can such a being of darkness exist? How can the only god be a monster of hatred?_ Rinoa had no tears left, just a deep abiding sadness. "Where does love come from? Light, kindness?" 

_"Do you really want to know, sorceress?"_

Rinoa shivered. She already knew what the god would tell her. "No…"

_"False idols, sorceress. Your Baal." _The voice was a whisper, insidious and impossible to ignore. _"I am the one true God. My power created the heaven and the earth. You are my creations, and you have turned your faces from me." _Rinoa was shaking her head. _"This is **my** universe, darkness and hate are all that exist here."_

"That's not true!" Rinoa's words should have rung strong, confident. "And I'll show you it's not true!" But the despair in her voice betrayed her. _It **can't** be true!_

It was hopeless, but still he fought on. Dark blade parting darker flesh, Seifer danced the steps of battle. With every blow he blocked, with every thrust he dodged, the tall knight could feel the black beast before him becoming stronger, faster, more clever. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The great gashes his midnight weapon tore in the monster healed over faster than he could tear new ones. The power of his sorceress had crossed the boundaries of time to imbue him with impossible strength, speed, and stamina, yet it was not enough. Seifer knew he was losing, he knew the other knights were failing as well, and it infuriated him. 

_It cannot end this way! _Seifer's blade was struck aside by a tree trunk of oily darkness. He barely managed to dodge three simultaneous spear thrusts from the monster as he recovered. _I won't let it end this way!_ Anger enveloped him as he redoubled his efforts—driving straight for the thing's throat as it lowered one of its horrific faces to scream at him. Surrounded by the blinding fog of the beast's poison breath, the knight instinctively blocked thrust after thrust from dark spikes that appeared from nowhere. Something besides the toxic air stung his eyes. _I **cannot** fail you, love… _A blow that would have killed any other man descended from the swirling, screaming fog. Seifer's shoulders creaked and his joints protested under the strain as he stood firm against the assault. Underfoot, cracked tiles shattered and his boots slid backwards through dissolving ceramic. _…not again!_ He fell, panting, to one knee as the monster reared to its full height above him. "Never again…" He whispered, bearing his teeth as he struggled back to his feet. 

No one saw the knight of the fire cross cut one last blazing arc through the air as he charged the Finger of God. No one watched his final act of defiance as, screaming a wordless challenge, he charged recklessly into the seething tower of darkness. In a heartbeat, the blond knight was gone. His steely eyes, his haughty sneer, his dark blade all swallowed by the night.

"You cannot keep us apart!" The old knight screamed into the howling darkness. From a hole in time behind the black beast, his sorceress called out to him. "I will be with her again!" As ragged breaths tore through his chest, pain blazed in his arms, but did not burn nearly so bright as the flames jetting from the cracks in his broken heart. _Edea… you're so close I can almost taste you!_ He blasted away a dozen spiked snakes of darkness with an explosion of Flare magic. _I will not lose you now!_

The undefeatable beast towered before him, but still the headmaster of Balamb Garden charged forward, crackling with furious energy. The beast melted away before the tip of his spear as he drove deeper and deeper into its core. Vines of darkness wrapped around his legs, then twisted and tore as he strained forward. The tunnel he had created in the monster darkened as its entrance closed over. The only illumination on the spiked walls of the creature of midnight was the blazing fire surrounding the knight. Soon, it too winked out.

Suddenly, the monster before Squall doubled, then tripled in size. It had become an impossible twisting mountain of blackness. As the enormous beast straightened—rising over a hundred feet in the air—the knight took an involuntary step backwards. He glanced to his left and right. There was nothing to indicate that the other two knights had ever even existed. 

_"Only one now."_

Squall did not blink as he stared along his upraised gunblade at the towering monster. _This is it… _The peak of the monster began to _pour _forward. _…we failed._ For the shortest of instants, he glanced back toward Rinoa. His love's eyes lay closed, squeezing two trails of tears down between the dark strands that had fallen over her face. She knelt, hunched and hopeless, her magical wings cracked and dulled from the abuse she had endured. _Please, Rinoa, there's not much time left…_ Squall dared not blink, lest he miss it. _Please, love, open your eyes… look into mine one last time._ Squall could hear the wind rushing around the body of the descending monster. _Hurry, my sorceress, leave me with no regrets. _Still, Rinoa's eyes remained closed. _Rinoa, I want you to see me once more. I want our lips to move together in one final prayer._ Time stood still for her, but still the sorceress did not open her eyes. _Please! Let us whisper 'I love you' again, if just once more!_ The glinting fall of a tear was her only response to his silent entreaties.

Time waited for no one. Squall whirled, the monster struck, silver flashed, a shot rang out, and the knight of the Lion was gone.

…

With a final scream, Galbadia Garden gave way. The twisted and bent main beam of the floating academy ruptured and the garden split apart. Great cracks appeared in the red walls, jagging their way down to the waterline. With a crackling jolt, the massive structure parted into two asymmetrical pieces—the starboard decks peeling away from the sail-like ridge running the length of the garden and plunging into the sea. 

On the catwalks of Balamb Garden, chaos erupted. Cadets and SeeDs alike hit the deck as officers screamed at the first wave of the boarding parties to detach themselves from the humming cables. 

The inch-thick braided steel of the wire, to which Iris had attached her zip harness, hummed and began to fray like a piece of twine stretched far too tight. Doing her level best not to panic, the pig-tailed girl worked hurriedly at the double catch. A strand of metal plinked like a broken guitar string and whipped across her cheek—barely missing her eye.

Only a few feet away a student manning one of the large winches—to which the securing cables were attached—hauled back on a locking lever as the whizzing spool unwound. The mechanism sparked and screeched in protest before the force on the winch sheared through the bolts holding it fast. The entire assembly took flight—breaking the student's arm as it did so.

At last, Iris managed to unclip herself from the overstressed cable. She turned toward another student who was trying to cut the harness off a stuck SeeD even as the Red-faced mercenary was screaming for his would-be rescuer to get the hell clear. Iris's hand had dropped to her own utility knife, preparing to render the pair additional assistance, when she felt a searing heat across her back accompanied by a cannon-like report.

Galbadia Garden's broken starboard deck slowly tilted away from the rest of the former desert training center, snapping cables and support beams as if they were nothing more than cobwebs and toothpicks. The port side of the giant garden—liberated from the counterbalance of the starboard decks—began tilting away from the garden's previous center of mass as seawater rushed into the open classrooms, training areas, mess halls, and barracks exposed by the destruction. A thunderous booming and constant crackling accompanied the great cloud of dust and debris that shot skyward as the vessel split in two. The few lights still burning in the dying garden flickered and burst as power fluctuations raced through demolished circuitry.

The smaller starboard side of G-Garden sank quickly. Only a few short minutes after it split from the rest of the garden, the myriad fires that had broken out from ruptured gas lines and malfunctioning electric appliances were quenched by the millions of gallons of seawater which quickly filled the empty hulk as it slipped beneath the unsettled, dirty waves.

The port section of the garden fared a bit better. A dozen watertight doors inside the structure had slammed shut at the first sign of a hull breach. Because it had been designed to be a seagoing vessel, the garden's builders had prepared for the eventuality of catastrophic damage to the structure, ensuring that the garden could stay afloat under any circumstances. The passage of centuries, however, had seen hundreds of modifications made to the mobile refugee shelter, and for every emergency seal that closed against the hungry waters, two more doors were blocked from performing their function and the remains of Galbadia Garden began listing badly to the left.

"Woa! Look out!" Zell threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around an metal exhaust pipe protruding from G-Garden's deck as the floor tilted beneath him. "Find something to grab on to!" His shout was unnecessary, for Irvine and Selphie were already clinging to their own handholds as the slant of their footing became too great to remain standing.

Fingers straining to keep her from sliding down the sudden incline, Selphie shouted, "Look!" 

Before the three SeeDs, the jagged edge of Galbadia garden reared skyward. Masonry, wood, and metal showered down upon them from the broken sides of the structure as they stared at a terrible sight. Unaffected by the tilting garden beneath it, the black liquid monster stretched out toward Rinoa. There was no sign of Squall, Seifer, or the Headmaster. Time seemed to hang, suspended, as the sorceress, lifted to her feet by the gyrations of the garden, stumbled—head down—toward the beast. 

"No!" The three mercenaries were powerless to do anything but shout as they watched their friend collide with the endless night of the Finger of God. She disappeared before their shocked brains could register what they were seeing. All that remained was a fleeting memory of the flash of a white wingtip and a tiny ripple in the oily beast. 

_There is nothing greater than me._

Underfoot, the world seemed to release the breath it had been holding, and Galbadia Garden crashed back into level equilibrium with a thunderous sighing. 

_That can't be right!_Zell's mouth worked as he turned to his comrades with a seeking look. _That's not the way it happens! _He couldn't make a sound. _Guys?_ Neither SeeD returned his gaze. Instead, Selphie's lips thinned into bloodless lines as she pushed herself back to her feet, a muscle in Irvine's neck twitched as he took aim at the black beast, and Zell—to his own surprise—felt his own fists rise, preparing for combat. _But we… they… can't have lost! This is all wrong!_

A below decks explosion set the ground shivering under the SeeD's feet as the monster before them lay quiescent. If Zell could have recognized anything—besides how wrong everything had become—he might have thought the black thing seemed almost surprised at its own victory. Whatever the reason for it, the beast's shocked stillness did not last long. The thin black snakes that had been menacing the SeeDs retreated as the monster began to gather itself into a long rolling wave that poured silently across the deck toward the green glowing porthole—and the SeeDs defending it. 

Zell could feel his face twisting into an angry grimace even as his fingernails bent within his tightly balled hands. _It's… so… wrong!_ He drew back his fist to strike, though he knew he might as well try to fight off the rising of the tide.

The wall of nightmare darkness reared above the mercenaries, it's crest frothing with a thousand black daggers.

The Ergheiz and Crescent Wish struck, the Exeter thundered. 

_Yes there is._

And the black tide rolled back. 

Dumbfounded, Zell let his fists fall to his sides as the wave of darkness retreated. A sparkle caught the corner of his eye, turning the blond SeeD's head. From the dirty low-lying cloudbank, a comet of sparking brilliance traced a slanting trajectory down into the debris-strewn waters around the sinking academy. Another slow meteor followed it, silently fizzing and twinkling—this time on the opposite side of the garden. Suddenly, the air and waters around the SeeDs were filled with a shower of the descending points of light—like a rain of fiery sunflowers.

The Finger of God lay illuminated by the gentle deluge of light. Filmy colors washed over its slick skin as it rippled. Near the center of the silent pool of oil a tiny bubble formed. The miniature sphere started out no bigger than a black pearl, but it grew quickly. The pearl became an orange, the orange a basketball, and the basketball a boulder. As it swelled, the blister brightened, changing from black, to violet, to blue, to white. A shaft of piercingly white light speared through the clouds and kissed the top of the boil. Zell could not tell whether the light originated from within the swelling dome, or from the sky above. 

Suddenly, the eerie silence was shattered by a thunderclap as light exploded in all directions, so bright it seemed almost solid—the world encased in glowing ivory. Even the shadow of the sorceress hovering above the shrinking boiling darkness was brighter than fresh-fallen snow under the winter sun. As if she were a photographic negative, every line of Rinoa's face was traced in white, her white wings so bright they seemed black. 

Zell was certain that, even had he covered his eyes with his hands, even had he looked away, the brightness would shine right through his body, projecting the scene on the backs of his corneas. _Finally! _Now he was sure. _This_ was the way things were supposed to be. He wanted to laugh and clap his hands… so he did.

Time resumed a slow progression, at last. The events that transpired seemed as the scene skipped in a movie—in a hairsbreadth worth of time, the darkness that was The Hand of God vanished, revealing three knights, weapons still raised against the foe that no longer existed. Rinoa's features slowly faded back into normalcy as her feet made contact with the broken tiles—scoured clean of any sign of the oily blackness that had covered them—in her hand, rested the Sapphire Nightmare, the imperfection of its crack wiped away. The jewel was whole once more. 

The perfect scene lasted only the time between the striking of Zell's palms and the sound of the clap reaching his ears before reality intruded. What was left of Galbadia Garden lurched underfoot as another explosion wracked the dying ship.

_Something is greater. _Rinoa stumbled. The jewel slipped from her fingers, but she was too exhausted to care. She staggered backward, her legs like jelly. _And that something is…_ She had not even the strength to arrest her motion, and it felt as if she might just trip backwards forever—until a gentle touch stopped her. The helping hand didn't come from the right direction, but she knew who it must be nonetheless. From some hidden reserve, she dredged up the strength to turn her head, her dark eyes turning to those of the man supporting her. _Squall…_

The soulless stolen orbs staring back at her were an even greater shock than the cold pressure against her back, an even greater shock than the bullet that pierced her heart.

Squall turned just in time not to see; just in time _not_ to see the man's eyes flicker from those of his victim to Squall's own, just in time _not_ to see the cruel hooks of the evil smile twist his lips. Squall did _not_ hear the muffled report of the pistol, he did _not_ see Rinoa pitch forward as the man released his grip on her shoulder—he was _sure_ he did_ not_

The gunblade slipped through the man's sternum and stomach as if it were parchment, it clove his spine in two without hesitation. The force of the screaming knight's charge carried the man backwards into the wall of what remained of the G-Garden's upper decks. Even as the man's flesh was torn by a bullet, he was nailed—like a specimen in an insect collection—against the solid steel outer bulkhead, Squall's gunblade sinking up to the hilt into his chest. Of course, all of this bothered Norg not at all. With the used-up body's dying breath, he whispered, "You can't stop me, Squall Leonhart." But Squall was already gone, leaving the jerking body pinned by his weapon. As Norg's consciousness fled the shell of another life he had destroyed, he chuckled to himself. "Perfect."

Rinoa was fine, of course. She could talk, sing, dance, and laugh just as well as she had before. Squall was foolish to worry as he dropped to his knees next to her still form. The bullet had missed, or it had been a blank, or any of a thousand other happy coincidences.

Rinoa was fine, of course. Squall was foolish to worry as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Not worried, not too choked by fear to speak, he whispered her name. "Rinoa?" Rinoa was a sorceress, you can't hurt a sorceress with something so primitive as a revolver.

Just as you can't believe all the lies you tell yourself between loss, and comprehension of your loss.

So many things were wrong. He could feel her wound, he could feel the torn fabric and flesh, he could feel her blood soaking into his clothing, soaking into his soul. He did not make a sound as he pulled her to him. _Nonononono!_ He didn't say anything. He didn't say anything. Who could speak, who could live, after losing perfection? It was fortunate Squall did not have his weapon.

They were pulling him away, so he hit them. Hard. Squall heard bones crack with the blow, but he could not be sure if they were his or theirs. Someone blond with body armor tossed him aside. Who were these people? He did not care. If he could have, he would have cut them down to be with her again. It was fortunate Squall did not have his weapon.

…

Seifer's eyes did not open at the shot. He didn't need his vision to see what had happened. All he needed was Squall's anguished cry and the ripping-fabric noise of a gunblade striking flesh. The tall knight continued to kneel where the vanishing darkness had dropped him as his ears picked up the sound of footfalls. Three lighter treads, _That would be the SeeDs, running to render assistance far too late for any of us._ and one heavier set. _Knight Kramer, where are you going?_ Seifer needn't have asked, he already knew. _The same place I long to go._

Cold blue eyes snapped open. Balamb Garden Headmaster, Cid Kramer, was fifteen paces from the swirling green mists of the portal. Hyperion now rested comfortably in Seifer's right palm. _How long since I have held my gunblade like this?_ Twelve paces, the aging knight was running now. _How long since I could feel anything… anything at all?_ Nine paces. Seifer cocked his arm back. _You won't take this away from me, Knight Kramer, not yet… and not you._ The power of his sorceress infused him from across decades, he would not fail. Six paces. Seifer's arm blurred.

It was too late, she was gone. Zell could tell just from the tone of Irvine's voice, but still, they had to try. The malicious magical attacks they had endured had stripped the SeeDs of all their healing spells, and elixirs took far too much time to be of any use. _But Seifer, Headmaster, they still have their—_ Zell looked up, preparing to shout. He choked on his cry for assistance. "NO!" The spinning dark blade traced purple arcs through the air before burying itself in the Headmaster's back. 

Three paces from the portal, Cid Kramer stopped—transfixed by Seifer's gunblade. The Bec De Corbyn clattered to the deck as he struggled for a moment to remain standing—the bloody tip of the dark weapon protruding from his chest. At long last, with a sigh like the wind through great sequoia trees, he collapsed to his knees. Stretching out one arm toward the time when he could feel his love, still alive, Knight Kramer whispered her name one last time before he died. "Edea…" The headmaster swayed, then pitched forward. His body was nothing but an empty shell by the time his cheek hit the tiles.

Deep within the bowls of the devastated Galbadia Garden, water at last found a breach in the academy's cavernous engine room and thousands of gallons of highly conductive seawater cascaded down upon the delicate and mysterious drive system built with technologies lost centuries ago. The resulting explosion actually lifted the remainder of the garden several feet out of the water. Support members that had been holding together only out of luck and habit finally gave up the ghost, and the garden began to break up. Almost before crashing back down into the water, the floating hulk's upper deck fractured in a dozen places, entire sections of the open-air platform suddenly disappearing, replaced by gaping holes, jets of steam, or gouts of fire. 

Seifer had just reached the body of Balamb Garden's headmaster when the deck he was standing on suddenly tilted from horizontal to vertical. Only by pulling his weapon from the body of the knight and jamming it into the bucking deck, was he able to keep himself from plummeting into a huge chasm that abruptly appeared on all sides. As the garden settled further into the water, the time portal remained stationary—drifting out of reach, overhead. Seifer spared it a calculating glance. _I can't make it._ Gathering himself against the sheer cliff of dissolving decking to which he now clung, he sprang sideways, pulling hyperion from where it had lodged, and making a rolling landing on a more stable section of the shivering garden. 

Abruptly, Seifer jerked his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the screaming descent of the silver gunblade. Chips of tile and grouting sprayed the side of his face and his left ear rang from the sound of the blow. An instant later, the same silver blade blocked his backhanded slash at the jacketed knight. Sparks showered from the two blades. "How did it feel, Squall?" Seifer pressed his counterattack, forcing Squall back a few paces over the jouncing deck. "Did you enjoy losing yours?" 

"She's **not** gone!" Squall's eyes flitted to the glow of the portal for an instant—even as its emerald light reflected across his bared teeth—then returning to lock with those of the trenchcoated knight as their blades followed suit. "And you won't keep me from her!" Squall's last words were punctuated by the ringing of gunblades locking as he brought a two-handed overhead slash down on Seifer's head. 

Seifer broke up the lock with a steel-toed kick to the dark-haired knight's stomach. "I could say the same thing," he growled.

Squall shrugged off the blow, charging the blond knight again. "I don't care!" 

Seifer turned Squall's blade aside, inches before it would have penetrated his chest. "I know."

"God dammit!" Irvine's drawl was forgotten as he turned at Zell's shout.

The short girl was stunned. _Oh, no… Oh, no, headmaster! _Still, despite the wrenching sight, Selphie was a bit more articulate, taking in the whole scene from where she crouched, beside Rinoa's body. "Irvine! You've got to keep everybody from going through that… that… thing!" Her voice was shaking, but the wave in the direction of the time portal was authoritative. "Zell, I'm sorry, you're not helping here. Go see if you can do anything for the headmaster!" Her features were flushed and her eyes were glistening, but the commanding tone in her voice demanded compliance. "I'll stay with Rinoa."

Both Irvine and Zell hesitated for a split second.

"Dammit! Don't stand there gaping! GO!" She bawled at them, tears squeezing from eyes pinched shut by her shout. Then the explosion tore the guts out of G-Garden. 

Squall dodged aside just in time as the beam of Meltdown scoured the air where he had been standing. By the time he brought his Gunblade back up into striking position, Seifer was already running, leaping over the gaps in the garden's deck as they appeared before him, heading toward a section of the garden that was rising amidst jets of smoke and flames. "No!" Squall charged after him.

Seifer took less than a second to judge the jump to the broken I-beam protruding from a vertical section of decking, but it nearly cost him his life. Squall's gunblade whispered through the tail of his trenchcoat as he made the jump. The flesh on his palms sizzled as he made contact with the I-beam, for the structure was red-hot from the flames licking around it's far end. Seifer barely noticed. Squall was right behind him, the silver gunblade cleaving a wedge of scalding steel from the beam as Squall hung on with one arm, and slashed at the blond knight with the other. 

Hyperion whispered into its holster and Seifer jumped onto a cascade of broken fiber-optic cables hanging from a data transmission trunk, using the vine-like wires to scale the steep face of the chunk of G-Garden. Even as he reached the top of the pillar-like section, the entire segment of the academy began to tilt sideways, allowing Squall to run up and over the very same cables Seifer had been forced to climb. As the shorter knight reached the apex of the section, the report of a gunshot and a whistling arc of darkness greeted him. Squall ducked, and the slash met only a few strands of his hair. The silver revolver barked as he struck at Seifer's legs. Seifer met the blow and the blades clashed with a bone-jarring clang. Abruptly, the tilting section upon which they stood broke apart, and both knights were forced to make a tremendous leap to a more stable platform. Regaining their feet, the two warriors collided again in a spray of sparking metal. Neither knight hesitated or showed that they were aware—in any way—of the teeth-rattling sonic boom that filled the air as the Ragnarok appeared out of the remains of the low cloudbank.

…

"Laguna! Slow down! You're going to get us all killed!" Kiros's knuckles were white as he gripped the cushion of the Ragnarok's pilot's seat—currently occupied by the President of Esthar. Covered in full crash webbing, the actual pilot huddled into his chair at the navigator's station, closing his eyes and muttering a fervent prayer. At the tactical officer's chair, Ward grimaced and buckled his safety harness. 

Laguna's face was illuminated by flashing yellow and red lights as airspeed and altitude alarms filled the cockpit. "Shut up… Kiros… I know… what I'm doing." Laguna growled through gritted teeth, hauling back on the control yoke.

Abruptly, the thick clouds in front of the Ragnarok parted. Through the streaks of moisture blasted back by the slipstream, the Estharian President and his cabinet could see the dark ocean rushing up to greet them. Kiros didn't say another word—he was too busy throwing himself into the copilot's seat and engaging the restraints. 

Trailing streamers of vapor, the Ragnarok seemed to dive straight for the water. At the last second, Laguna tried twisting the flight yoke full over. As a result, the giant red spaceplane hit the water at an oblique angle, yawing hard to starboard. The huge flying machine immediately disappeared in a tremendous cloud of spray as it began to roll, skipping across the water. A moment later, the craft shot from behind the curtain of spray—airborne again, cones of flame trailing hundreds of feet behind its overstressed engines, blasting the water flat for miles behind the spacecraft as it slewed crazily under the inexperienced hand of its new pilot.

"Laguna, look!" Kiros pointed toward the port windscreen. "There's Balamb Garden, and there's a ship—it looks like it's sinking."

President Loire shook his head as he stamped down on the rudder pedals. "That's no ship. That's Galbadia Garden."

…

"Come on, Rinoa, just hang on a little longer…" Now that no one could see her, tears streamed down Selphie's face as she kept the lie alive, holding the body's cold hand. The ocean waves continued to climb higher and higher up her tiny section of Galbadia Garden. Soon there would be nowhere left to go. _But I can't just leave her here. It just isn't right. _"Don't worry, help is on the way." _How did we ever let this happen?_

A low-pitched throbbing filled the air as the Ragnarok approached. Selphie spared a glance upward at the descending spacecraft. At any other time, the sight of the huge aerospace plane would have filled her with excitement. _But not now._ She waved tiredly to the pilot.

A moment later, Selphie couldn't help but wince as the streamlined nose of the spacecraft plowed into the edge of her shrinking island of metal and ceramic. _What sort of oaf is flying that thing?_ She crouched against the unsteady footing as the Ragnarok bumped into the deck again. 

A crack appeared in the wall beneath them as intense flames melted through the metal skin of the collapsed section of classrooms. Gouts of fire belched skyward, separating the two knights with a wall of heat. Seifer spared a quick glance backwards at the shifting landscape of the collapsing garden. _There… a route to the top… and to her._ He turned back just in time. 

The curtain of blue flame parted around the tip of the silver blade, changing from violet to orange as the fire's flow was disturbed. Next through the flames were the chamber, hammer, and grip of the revolver, followed by a gloved hand, black-jacketed arm, two steely gray-green eyes and a flash of teeth bared in a grimace of rage. This time Seifer allowed himself to take the defensive, slowly giving ground as Squall pushed him toward his objective—a long slope of red wall that had collapsed onto a second-level deck. From the way the garden was drifting, it was apparent that the portal would soon pass the very peak of the rust-colored incline. 

As the two gunblade collided again, a deep roar filled the sky, and the enormous outline of the Ragnarok slowly rose beside the edge of the section of the garden on which the knights fought. First the tall vertical stabilizers, then the enormous upper engine pods, then the tinted glass canopy, and finally the twin particle cannons first crested, and then were brought level with the two combatants. Silouhetted against the giant red spacecraft, the two figures thrust and parried, slashed and riposte; neither knight taking his eyes off the other as they fought—until the air began to crackle with electricity. 

Almost reluctantly, the two combatants separated and dove out of the way seconds before the particle cannon opened up on the deck, blasting enormous craters in the walls, sides, and floor of the remains of Galbadia Garden.

"Dammit! Hold it steady!" Laguna shouted to Selphie. "I almost hit Squall… line us up on Seifer!" 

"Mr. President, I can hold it steady, or you can fire the cannon. It's one or the other, you can't have both!" Less than two minutes at the helm of her beloved spacecraft, and already Selphie was exasperated. "These weapons weren't designed for precision strikes and this thing bucks like crazy every time you shoot!"

Laguna growled and unbuckled his restraints. "Alright, forget this, take us in." He started toward the lift leading to the cargo areas of the Ragnarok, but found his path blocked by Ward's considerable bulk. "Ward, get out of my way."

The silent man folded his arms and shook his head. Laguna felt a hand on his shoulder. "Laguna, you can't get involved. We can't be sure what's really going on down there." Kiros spoke quietly.

The president of Esthar whirled. "Can't I? Dammit, Kiros! That's what I've been telling myself for the past eighteen years!" Laguna cast his hands down. "And look at me! Look at what 'not getting involved' has made me. I'm his father, for Hyne's sake! I have to help!"

Seifer was sprinting up the smooth red slope of the garden's roofline when his footing suddenly gave way. Stucco and concrete crumbled under him, and the knight found himself plummeting into a pit lined by twisted steel rebar and sparking power cables. His arm shot out, snagging the end of a reinforcing rod protruding from the crumbling cement wall. A shadow passed overhead as Squall leapt over the newly formed chasm. No sooner had the smaller knight landed, than he had brought his weapon up to strike at Seifer's tenuous grip. Hyperion was saved from disappearing into the dusty darkness of the shaking rift by the toe of Seifer's left boot as he dropped the weapon, bringing his right hand up. 

The force of the Flare spell lifted Squall from his feet, dropping him two meters from his previous position. The para-magic was still fading from the air as Seifer kicked his gunblade's handle back into his palm. With impossible strength, the knight levered himself up onto level decking once again, using only his left arm.

_This has got to be a nightmare._ Zell couldn't believe what was happening around him. Before he could even reach the headmaster, the section of the garden on which it had fallen flipped like a pancake, and the body had disappeared into the grinding shuddering chaos of the dissolving garden. He had seen the trenchcoated knight jump clear of the dangerous section, and for a moment, Zell had harbored thoughts of pursuing the hated blond man. The decking crumbling beneath his feet had put an end to those thoughts rather quickly, and Zell had found himself tossed into a race for his life—jumping from section to section as the overhanging fringes of Galbadia Garden's upper deck sloughed into the angry ocean's churning waters.

Irvine tensed as the two knights sprinted toward him, Seifer lead the chase by mere inches, countering Squall's running swipes without even looking back as he pounded up toward the sharpshooter's position. "Don't come any closer, yall!" From a crouch on one knee, he drew a bead on the blond knight. 

"Shoot him, Irvine!" The Galbadian gunman nearly jumped out of his boots at the shout from behind. Zell clambered over the jagged edge of the shaky roofline. "What are you waiting for?! Shoot Seifer!" 

The two knights had stopped their headlong rush a few yards short of the SeeD's position, and were, once again, engaged in a furious stand-up fight. The scene was spectacular to watch. Both knights appeared only as dark and light blurs of motion. The ringing blows from blades colliding created an almost constant cacophony, underscored by the noise of the Ragnarok's thrumming engines as the huge spacecraft drifted slowly sideways—keeping pace with the two combatants. The cargo ramp descended with a barely audible whirring, creating the impression that the space plane was a great bird of prey, about to scoop the dueling knights up into its cruel metal beak.

Suddenly, there was silence. The two knights separated, staring at each other from behind raised blades—now chipped with dozens of deep scores where the force of their collisions had cloven wedges of tempered steel. The weapons of both combatants rose and fell with the panting breaths they drew. 

Squall was the first to speak. "You can't win, Seifer."

To the dark-haired knight's shock, the words were not met with a sneering dismissal. "I know." Seifer whispered in a voice too quiet to hear over the roar of the nearby spacecraft. "But I must fight. We both must fight."

The blond knight's words rang true in the shocked shell of Squall's own heart. "I don't hate you, Seifer." The tip of his gunblade dropped slightly.

"But I hate you, Squall Leonhart." The cold blue eyes flashed. "You always had to stand up to me. I knew you would always keep me from being with her." Seifer bared his teeth. "You'll never know how much I hate you."

Squall had rarely been as earnest as now. "I'm sorry." Even as his own loss tore at his soul, the knight looked upon his opponent with a feeling he could not have imagined existing an hour ago. _I don't hate you, Seifer, not anymore. I understand you now… and I pity you. _Squall's gunblade touched the ground. "You can't kill me, Knight Almasy, and you won't stop me." Squall turned away—towards the doorway in time.

"No." _Don't walk away from me, Squall._ The sneer returned. "You're wrong." _Don't pity me! _Seifer's gloves creaked around the grip of his weapon. _You won't leave me here with my failure!_ "You'll taste my hatred!" Seifer drew back his weapon. "You kept me from my sorceress, Squall Leonhart, now I'll keep you from yours!" _Turn to face me, knight! Turn to kill me!_ "You'll **never** see Rinoa again!" Hyperion whispered through the air.

Seifer's words struck the chord of Squall's deepest fear. The silver and black blades touched again. For an instant, Squall did feel Seifer's hatred. "No!" _**No one will keep us apart**!!_ The dark-haired knight drove his weapon toward Seifer with all his strength. The black gunblade descended, to turn Squall's strike away, but the two blades never met. At the last instant, the blond knight paused. 

As the silver blade tore through him, Seifer welcomed the painless shock. He pitched forward with the force of the blow, catching himself against Squall's charge with his empty left arm. _At last… at long last…_ The tall knight whispered quickly, before the rushing blood could fill his lungs. "I couldn't… I can't bear it without her." 

The dark-haired knight had halted his advance with Seifer leaning against him. He felt Hyperion's handle press against his chest as Seifer, placing both hands on the other knight's shoulders, pushed himself off of Squall's gunblade. His body shuddered as the blade ripped free. 

Squall stood shocked, Seifer's blood dripping from the point of his weapon. 

A dark stain spread across the front of the blond knight's cream-colored trenchcoat. Staggering slightly, Seifer managed to straighten. Waves of tearing pain seared through him. They helped. They helped to distract him. Still… for a moment, his eyes turned to the time portal—the motion of the garden's hulk making it seem to glide through the air. The single tear of loss was dew on his granite cheek. Strength fled his body as he struggled to lift the dark weapon one last time. With nothing left but willpower, Seifer forced Hyperion to a final raised salute. His eyes locked with those ofthe one remaining knight._ Take care of your sorceress, Squall… and take care of mine._ The light dimmed, the roaring in his ears quieted, the pain receded.

The world fled, but before leaving him completely, it graced Seifer with one final memory. 

Her hands were cool on his forehead, his cheek. "My strength, my courage, my love." His sorceress sighed as she gazed down at him. "Please don't be sad for us, my knight." His heart ached to banish the look of melancholy that graced her perfect features. "The greatest romances always end in tragedy."

He was her strength. He was her courage. He was her **love**. And he had said something to brush the sadness from her eyes, he had made everything right again, but what he had done, what he had said, Seifer could not remember, for Seifer was dead.

…

The battle was over. Their enemy was defeated. The blond knight's fall had seemed like that of a giant sequoia tree. Impossible that one of such strength could fall. But fall, Seifer's body did, disappearing into the swirling chaos of the boiling sea far, far below. Still, Irvine's aim did not waver. The butt of the Exeter remained firmly seated against the sharpshooter's shoulder. The Galbadian SeeD felt a tremor within his chest as the dark knight with the silver gunblade—now stained with dark red, nearly black, blood—turned toward him. Slowly, unbelievably, he felt himself center his rifle's sight on his friend's chest. "Please don't come any closer, Squall."

Surprise made Zell take a step backwards. "Irvine…?" His brows drew together in incredulity. "…what are you doing, Irvine?"

The sharpshooter ignored the blond SeeD. "Squall, you know I can't let you pass." It was with a sick heart that Irvine realized the bead he had drawn on the knight did not tremble. _Am I really capable of going through with this? What if he doesn't listen? Can I really shoot Squall Leonhart?_ "We have to leave things as they are, Squall."

Zell knew Squall was going to holster his weapon. Zell knew he and Irvine and Squall were going to talk this out like reasonable people. Zell knew he was going to have time to figure out what thought it was that kept nagging at the back of his mind. _No… something's gone very, very wrong here. This time… things aren't right…_ But, much to the martial artist's dismay, Squall's bloodstained blade did not vanish, and Irvine did not lower his rifle. _What is it? What's wrong with this picture—besides the obvious? C'mon Zell! Dammit! If I only had a little time to **THINK**!_ There was no time to think. Squall advanced on the crouching SeeD.

"I won't let you stop me, Irvine." Squall did not blink.

Irvine's aim didn't waver, but his glance did at the heavy landing of a figure with long, dark hair, speckled by more than a few gray hairs. The sharpshooter's eyes widened in surprise as President Laguna Loire straightened, from where his jump from the hovering Ragnarok had left him, and raised the snub-nosed submachine gun, pointing it directly at the Galbadian's head. "Drop it, SeeD."

Squall paused long enough to snarl at the new addition to the small group perching atop one of the last floating pieces of Galbadia Garden. "Stay out of this!"

Irvine's ponytail shook slightly. "I can't do that, Sir." His finger tightened on the Exeter's trigger. "I can't risk the consequences… Please, Mr. Loire, lower your weapon and help me. I don't want to shoot your son." The rifle's hammer clicked back. "But I will if I have to."

Squall was only a few feet from the muzzle of the Exeter. Laguna spared him a glance. "You knew?" He spoke to Irvine.

"Selphie told me—please, Mr. President, please stop him for me!" There was no way to miss the knight at this range. _No way to choke, no way to blame it on the pressure…_

Zell was sure he would explode from the tension, but he was afraid to move lest he disturb the obvious hair-trigger the armed men were maintaining. The SeeD struggled to force that one vital thought through his agitated brain. _Who is wrong here…?_

And then Zell **knew**! He opened his mouth, but there wasn't time to explain. Squall was inches from the Sharpshooter and moving inexorably forward, the portal was drifting beyond the edge of the precipice, and Laguna was surely preparing to shoot. 

Zell moved like lightning. Irvine's rifle roared and Laguna's machine gun chattered out a short burst of lethality—every round striking nothing but empty air. Still balancing on his left foot, his right leg extended, heel pressed against the barrel of the Exeter, his left hand holding the muzzle of the machine gun, Zell tightened his grip on Laguna's weapon while hooking his foot around Irvine's. With a twist of his body, the martial artist fell to the ground, drawing both weapons out of their owner's hands. "De-nyed!" he grunted as he hit the ground.

Irvine's empty hands were still raised, his eyes still squeezed shut, afraid to open lest they find that he was mistaken, that he really had killed his friend. Laguna simply stood and gaped at the blond SeeD's display of dexterity. Squall said nothing as he brushed by the group of three.

At last, Irvine opened his eyes. The look he shot at his fellow SeeD carried a hint of worry, but dripped relief. "Zell…" _…thank you. Thank you for taking the burden from me._

Zell silenced him with a growl. "Irvine, you moron! Don't you get it? The bastard that shot Rinoa screwed everything up! Squall's going to set it right—one way or another…" 

_How?_ "What…?"Irvine didn't understand.

"How the fuck do you think Ultimecia can be born with Rinoa…" _Dead._

Squall's shoulders hunched. "She's **not**!" Throwing an arm out to his side, he whirled to face Zell. "She's not! Do you hear me!? I won't allow it!!"

Irvine suddenly sat down as the realization hit him. "Oh, Jesus…" _What I almost did…_ "Oh, Jesus…" He repeated.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Laguna recovered his lost power of speech.

The portal had drifted beyond the peak of the crumbling section of garden. Squall gauged the expanse of air between the last foothold and the swirling green mist. The black-clothed knight gathered himself for the final sprint… and felt a dagger of horror stab though his heart. From below the sharp lip of the broken section of garden, one of the huge vertical stabilizers of the Ragnarok rose into view—stopping directly between the knight and the portal—blocking Squall's path with an enormous wall of red-painted metal.

"Oh no, Selphie!" Zell waved and shouted hopelessly. The cockpit of the space plane was not even in view and he could never hope to shout over the thrumming of its engines.

"Darlin', darlin'! Not now!" Irvine stood, shaking his head. "She must not realize…" He turned to the blond SeeD. "How long will that portal last?" 

"How the hell should I know?" Zell shouted in agitation. "But… once it's gone…" _…it's gone for good, there's no one left to re-open it--_ His thoughts were rudely interrupted as Squall appeared before him, gloved hands lifting and shaking the SeeD by his vest. 

"Help me!" The former mercenary captain's eyes were wild. "Tell them to move!"

"I, I can't, Squall—" Zell felt the knight release him, turning to Irvine instead.

"Damn you! Help me!" Squall's left hand was raised to his forehead in a magic-drawing position. "Give me your spells! I'll blast it away!"

Irvine backed away from the frantic knight. "I can't, Squall, our magic is gone!"

_This can't be happening! This can't be happening!_ He could feel her slipping away. The rift in time was closing! The beast within him thrashed and clawed at the walls of his body; its prison. _You're going to be left alone again! You're going to lose her again!_ "NOOO!!" It took all of Squall's will to keep his gunblade from cleaving the man, whose hand fell upon his shoulder, in half. 

Laguna's eyes were calm. "I'll help you, Son." His right fingers encircle the wrist of the hand he had laid upon his child. Head bowed, Laguna summoned the long-disused magic from within himself.

Before the yellow swirls of the Aura spell had faded from the air, the air around the knight was already humming from the energy channeling through his body. "Stand back." He forced the words though teeth gritted with effort. Then, for an instant, he allowed his gaze—not angry, not cold, not anything false—to meet Laguna's. "Thank you." The whisper was too quiet to be heard, but Laguna understood everything it implied, nonetheless. 

Light not from the occluded sun sparkled from the battered gunblade as Squall raised it above his head. 

"Keep an eye on those cross-winds for me, please, Kiros." Selphie didn't allow her eyes to leave the displays before her for an instant as she gently tapped at the Ragnarok's manual control yoke. One iota too far this way and they'd bump into the remains of Galbadia garden—sending everyone outside plummeting into the churning seas. A hairsbreadth too much correction that way, and the entire spaceship might be transported a thousand years into the past or future—who knew?!

Kiros, complying with the request, felt a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Ward?" The powerful silent man's grip tightened, commanding immediate attention. Kiros turned to look. "Uh, Miss Tilmitt… you might want to brace yourself against something…"

Selphie couldn't look up. "Huh? What are you talking abo—"

Squall dropped his weapon and the thundering energy of the Blasting Zone bit into the Ragnarok. 

Evening had fallen in Esthar, but one would hardly know it, so brilliant was the sky with fireworks celebrating the destruction of the Lunatic Pandora. The huge blue mushroom-shaped buildings of downtown Esthar positively sparkled with nearly every light burning as revelers danced in the streets and cheered at the spectacular display in the sky above. 

Occasionally, the aerial explosions would pause while the skyburst tubes were reloaded, but the crowds hardly noticed, so busy was everyone exclaiming over the many facets of life that suddenly seemed all the more sweeter now that they had been spared the horror of another plague of deadly monsters.

It was during one such pause that the crowds fell silent, for there—high in the skies above Esthar—appeared a great finger of light, stretching completely across the vault and disappearing into the east. The silence was short lived, however, as the people fell to cheering this strange new brand of firework, never realizing that the powerful beam originated from a point hundreds of miles to the west.

Laguna wanted to say something. He wanted to shout one last word as the knight sprinted up the slope toward the smoking hole carved in the tailfin of the Ragnarok, but he remained silent for fear of breaking Squall's concentration.

The black boots left the peak of the tilting wall. The dark knight sailed through the air. For anyone else—for anyone not imbued with the power of their sorceress—the jump would have been impossible. For Squall, it was not. Stretching, stretching—it was nearly beyond his grasp—but not quite. 

Everyone knew he couldn't make it. Everyone groaned in despair as the knight leapt through the demolished stabilizer, reaching for that shrinking gateway to another time. Everyone, that is, except Squall. His black-gloved finger brushed the outermost fringe of the portal as gravity transformed his leap into a plummet. 

Despite the brilliant light assaulting his eyes, Zell force himself to watch as the knight and portal vanished in a burst of emerald. Abruptly, he was overcome with a wave of nausea as the world seemed to distort around him. Hunching forward, clutching at the terrible feeling inside himself, Zell spied Irvine and Laguna likewise stricken and retching. "What—what **is** this?" The blond mercenary gasped.

With an inaudible SNAP, time _slipped_ before anyone could answer.

…

It was not like before. The chaos into which Squall found himself tossed was like nothing he had ever experienced. This time, there was no featureless void, no empty desert, no falling through flashes of the past and future. The knight felt as if he would be torn apart by the screaming maelstrom of shapes and colors around him, but the whirlwind of confusion was much more than that. Every sense was under assault. Smell, vision, touch, taste, hearing—Squall's mind was thrown into turmoil as his nerves seemed to explode. He was certain his arms were on fire, yet his chest seemed frozen. A horrid bitterness coated his tongue while the scent of flowers filled his lungs. The ocean whispered quietly into one ear while demons screeched into the other. Dozens of scenes flashed before each eye, juxtaposed on one another in an insane kaleidoscope of impossible images. Still, one thing remained constant—his awareness of Rinoa. She was near, somewhere, sometime, she was…

More real than all but the sense of his sorceress, Squall felt something strike him in the chest, and with the contact, Rinoa vanished.

Squall screamed into the chaos. Only, it was no longer chaos. It was a orderly white room. A glistening tile floor reflected sterile white ceiling lights. In one corner, a matte gray steel door lay closed and locked, in the other, a strange machine. A few odd tables and cabinets and a robed and hooded figure stood near the doorway. 

The device was the size of a large table and shaped like a giant's coffin. Dozens of lights blinked along the machine's sides, and its quiet humming filled the room. If one were to stand over the device and look down upon it, one would notice the small clear window set into its surface. Behind the window lay a pale figure; a strange man who's bulging eyes and sallow flesh gave him a distinctly fishlike appearance. The man's closed eyes flickered—much as they would in a dream-filled sleep.

Squall's knees hit the spotless floor with a thump. His breath left him in a scream of anguish so visceral it could only escape as silence. _She_ was gone.

_Rinoa! Oh god, Rinoa! _He could think of nothing else. Wherever, whenever he was, she was not here. Knotted muscles strained to the breaking point and—no longer infused with supernatural power—began to tear as the knight's back arched in a physical manifestation of his anguish. The silence of the chamber was shattered by the gunblade's final round discharging as Squall unconsciously squeezed the trigger. A moment later, the firing pin bent and then broke under the pressure of his grip.

The same dead gray eyes that had not so much as blinked at the dark-jacketed man's appearance now watched impassively as he struggled to turn his weapon on himself. The blade shook violently as its owner drew its tip across his chest, not stopping until it lay directly over his heart. The twin orbs did, however, narrow against the brightness of the beam of light that suddenly transfixed the knight.

Of its own accord, Squall's gunblade flipped upright, tearing away from his heart and dragging him along—his hand locked to the trigger—as it arched into the air, then slammed down to the floor, imbedding itself in the tiles. _You have failed your sorceress, Knight!_ Not words, so much as a _feeling_ flowed through the gunblade and into Squall. Lightning bolts of damnation crackled up the length of the weapon and arced into the knight's body. _You could not protect her. She is dead._ Squall could feel himself dying even as he squeezed the gunblade tighter. If only he could hold on long enough, perhaps this judgment would kill him. _Rinoa died because of you._ Squall's head was thrown back, electricity sparked between his bared teeth. The agony of the judgment was unbearable, but the knowledge of his failure was far worse. There was only one way to end them both.

Never has a failed knight been granted mercy. The blast that threw Squall clear of his gunblade shattered the tiled floor even as the room's light bulbs exploded in showers of sparks. The knight was cast into a far corner of the room like an unwanted rag doll. There he lay, wisps of smoke rising from his ravaged body. No tears could be squeezed from the rusted ball bearings that had replaced his eyes, no words could be forced from the leathery sacks that had replaced his lungs. Nothing but hopelessness, sorrow, and despair remained to fill the bloodless hole where his heart had once beat.

The knight was motionless now, yet there was still movement in the room. A red diode flashed from the top of the coffin-shaped apparatus and the device began to whir. With a whooshing sound, jets of steam accompanied the opening of a large hatch in the top of the machine. A moment later, the man inside sat up. He took in the chaos of the room with a dispassionate glance before committing to egression from the device. He was a strange-looking creature—barely recognizable as a man. His sallow fishlike features were only accentuated by his considerable height and girth. The man had large pale hands—they almost looked like flippers—and short stubby legs. Overall, the evolved Norg bore astonishing resemblance to the original. 

"Hrrrhmph! Well, well. The troublemaker himself has finally arrived." The man waved his hands in the air as he addressed the fallen knight.

Squall's only reaction was to continue stareing emptily at the floor. 

The fishlike man cleared his throat before speaking. "Hrrmmph! I must say, though your appearance is not altogether unexpected, your timing is impeccable." Norg's soft features twisted into a grin. "You see, I was just about to make sure that little witch would never have the opportunity to meddle in my affairs." 

Squall's right index finger might have twitched. 

"Bhrrump! That's right, SeeD four-seven-oh-three, she's still alive sometime." Norg waved a hand dismissively. "But not for long." Norg turned his back on the knight. "You know, it's strange how things work out. I can see that, from your time, I must have already killed the sorceress—otherwise you would not be here now—thus, I am assured of victory by your presence." The man clapped his flipper-like hands together. "And, as if that were not enough, you have been kind enough to remove yourself from my past in order to come here—sparing me the trouble of finding a way of killing you myself." Norg paused.

At last a thought battered its way through Squall's despair. _Still alive some time… _Something frigid slithered down Squall's arms. _…still alive…alive…_

Norg did not even turn as the knight exploded to his feet, screaming a battle cry and charging at the former Shumi. He merely smiled peacefully as the walls lit up and the room shook with the massive thunderbolt that blasted Squall back into the corner when his hand touched the gunblade. "Oh yes, did I forget to mention that I know all about your judgment, SeeD? I'm probably more knowledgeable than you, in fact." Another scream, another charge, another thunderbolt. "What do you think I've been doing with myself all this time?" Now Norg did turn to face the knight. Squall was struggling to his feet a third time. "I've studied you humans…" a slight twist of the lip, "…or should I say, 'us humans'? I know all about your foolish rituals, laws, even your mythology. I know how helpless you are without your sorceress." He tapped a finger to his forehead. "But I also know just how difficult—impossible even—it is for a normal person to kill a knight." He laughed—a hard cruel sound—as Squall's third attempt to grasp his gunblade sent the knight flying backward in a shower of sparks. "Suicide, on the other hand…"

The robed figure near the door stood silently.

Squall wasn't sure he could get to his feet a fourth time, but he didn't care. Every part of his body was screaming for him to stop, but other pains were nothing compared to the torment of his soul. "I… can still… save… her." He panted.

"Harrrumb! Not likely." The man's eyes narrowed slightly. "You know, I've even learned to utilize humor—like you humans." Norg folded his arms. "Here's a joke for you; How do you drive a Knight crazy enough to kill himself?" Squall reached for his weapon once again. "Give up?" Norg blinked at the lightning that smashed the knight's body away. "Why, you murder his sorceress, of course. Har! har!" The man's prodigious belly shook as he chortled.

Impossibly on his feet again, Squall shunned the gunblade, stumbling toward the former Shumi, hands held before him, fingers curled like claws. "I'll… tear you apart… with my bare hands… if I have to." 

The pale man backed away from the advancing knight. "Hrrrummph. You'll ruin all the fun now." snapping his fingers, he shouted: "Dahyte."

Squall felt his shoulder creak as his arms were suddenly wrenched behind his back. Someone with a grip of iron slammed him against the wall. "Hold still!" A disturbingly familiar voice rasped in his ear. The knight managed to turn his head, catching a glimpse of his assailant. The robed figure in the corner was no longer robed, nor still. Squall's eyes widened in disbelieving recognition. "The Fa—?" His words were silenced by a stunning blow to the base of his skull that left black spots swimming before his eyes. His breath left his lungs as a vicious kick to the backs of his knees dropped the knight to the floor. 

Norg smiled in approval. "Bhrrhb. Good. I knew there was a reason I kept you around all these years." He folded his arms once more. "Now, let's see just how invincible a knight really is; tear him apart, mercenary." The man's fleshy features bunched as he bared his teeth in a snarl. "This one has been more trouble to me than any other! I want you to divide him into seven pieces. Then, I want those pieces burned and the ashes sealed and buried in seven different countries." Norg spat the last phrase. "Make sure this one never troubles me again!"

Slowly, the monster backed away from the crumpled knight. "As you wish." Dahyte threw her arms down to her sides, long, sharp claws bursting from her fingertips. Serrated, knife-like ridges of bone appeared from between the scales on her forearms. The spikes on her shoulders, hips, and calves straightened. For a moment, she stood, staring down at Squall.

Then she turned toward Norg.

Stumbling backward as the monster approached, Norg cried: "Bushururu! W-what are you doing!?" His flipper-like hands fumbled for the sidearm in his belt. "Sniper, complete your mission!"

Dahyte was upon the former Shumi before he could draw his weapon. "I _am_." She raised a clawed hand high over the terrified man.

…

"Dahyte?" She jerked awake. For a moment, the sniper thought she was blind, then her fingers broke through the caked blood sealing her eyelids shut. "Dahyte?" Quistis's voice was almost loud enough to be a whisper.

It was impossible, but Quistis was still alive—not only was she still alive, but she was also conscious. Again, the old, old sensation—unfamiliar after so many years of disuse—assailed the sniper; the aching of tears springing to her gritty eyes. "Yes, Quistis?" 

"How is Hal doing?" The SeeD lay motionless in the arms of the Galbadian soldier.

Dahyte looked up at the seated form of the commando. His face was gray behind the mask. His eyes were closed and no breath passed his white lips. "He's okay." Dahyte was careful to keep out of the SeeD's field of view as salty tears—mixed with blood—trickled down her cheeks. She could see the tubes Hal must have quietly attached to Quistis's suit from his own. His mask was lightless—cold and dead. Hal's finger still rested upon the system purge button—where it had forced the last of his reserve power and air into Quistis's suit. _It's so unfair! It's so terribly unfair! _It should have meant something—this final gesture. _It should have saved her! It should have saved them both! **I** am the one who should die out here!_ But the planet was still a tiny speck in the escape pod's only window. It would be days before their journey would be complete, but Quistis's would end in a few hours.

"Dahyte?" The almost-silent voice spoke again.

"Quistis, please, save your air. We're almost home." The sniper lied.

Quistis ignored her plea. "Your mission is to kill him, isn't it?"

Though she did not say who 'he' was, Dahyte immediately knew whom Quistis was speaking of. "Yes."

"Please don't, Dahyte. Please." Every word seemed to be fainter than the last. "He and… he and Rinoa should be happy together. I-if I could wish for one thing to come out of this… it would be that, Dahyte."

The sniper was silent. 

"Please, Dahyte…" Quistis had nothing else she could say.

The pause stretched into eternity. _Not this too, Quistis. Please, not this too. Ask me to give my life so you can live, ask me to destroy nations or rebuild gardens, but please, don't ask me to save his life. Please don't ask me to give you peace. _But the request stood. At last, the sniper replied. "Very well."

…

Norg howled as the monster's claws pierced his flesh. Blood spurted from severed arteries as Dahyte slashed at him. The screaming and wet sounds of rending flesh lasted quite some time, for Dahyte did not hurry to dispatch the former Shumi. She let him suffer. She left his vision so he could watch her tearing his entrails out. She did not relish the killing, nor did she enjoy the pain of the doomed man, she simply let him suffer. Not troubling herself to hasten his death. 

Eventually, Norg did die. With one final gurgle, his shivering body keeled over backwards, blood seeping from great gouges torn in his soft flesh. Gore sloughed from her claws as they retracted back into their sheaths in Dahyte's fingers and she turned to Squall. "Your sorceress lives on in your time, knight Leonhart."

Squall had not moved from where he had fallen. His voice was a ghost of a whisper. "I can't feel her." It was true, the hole inside of him remained empty and dark.

Dahyte's brow twitched, but she said nothing. Instead, the monster the sniper had become over the years that had passed since the historic battle between Esthar and Galbadia and the destruction of G-Garden turned to the device from which Norg had emerged. Kneeling beside the coffin-shaped machine, she popped a small hidden cover off the bottom of the device with her clawed fingers. As the monster perused the instructions engraved into the tiny metal plaque set into the secret compartment, resentment stirred within her breast. _So many people giving so much for one love, two lives. How can it be worth all their sacrifices?_

…

"What are you talking abou—Yeeek!" Suddenly, the floor seemed to drop out from beneath Selphie, Kiros, and Ward as the spacecraft was shaken by a massive impact. At the same time, the console lit up like a Christmas tree and a half-dozen alarms began clamoring for her attention. As the space plane bucked wildly, the short SeeD grabbed the control yoke, doing her best to damp out the oscillations from the unexpected jolt. "What the heck happened!?" She shouted.

Clinging to the back of the navigator's chair, Kiros replied. "The right rear stabilizer's been holed. We're losing hydraulic pressure in the control lines, I'm switching us to electric auxiliaries." He reached forward even as Selphie repeated her question.

"What the heck happened to us?!" She yanked back on the increasingly unresponsive controls, hauling the nose of the spacecraft up.

Kiros's had just taken a breath to respond to the SeeD when the slip occurred.

The alarms were silent, the console showed only green lights, and Selphie's face was as white as her knuckles as she held the controls in a death grip, the momentary sensation of terrible vertigo causing her to automatically haul the yoke back and twist it to the right. The spacecraft continued to hover sedately—the autopilot still engaged.

"The hell…?!" A familiar voice exclaimed from behind Selphie. 

She turned. Laguna, Zell, and Irvine were all standing at the rear of the flight deck. Their faces betraying various states of confusion.

"…was that?!" Belatedly, Zell finished his sentence. 

No one answered. Instead, Irvine pointed out the cockpit window. "The garden!" 

Everyone's head turned to follow the sharpshooter's finger. A few hundred yards off the nose of the Ragnarok, the tip of the highest sail of Galbadia Garden slipped beneath the debris-filled water.

Laguna steadied himself on the back of the flight engineer's chair. "Squall made it through. He's gone back in time and changed something."

"So where is he?" Irvine's rifle—like Laguna's machine gun—hung from his hand, forgotten in the confusion. The sharpshooter turned to Zell, automatically sliding his weapon into its holster. "If Squall's gone back in time, shouldn't he be here right now?"

Zell slowly shook his head. "I don't know…" Again, a thought was stirring at the back of his mind. _What is it? Something… something here doesn't make sense… something to do with that man who shot Rinoa… and the one who tried to assassinate Squall in Deling. _Zell scratched his head. _Who were those people? We'd never seen them before. What did they know? Why were they trying to kill either Squall or Rinoa…?_

As usual, the others assumed Zell's silence was born of an absence of knowledge and began talking amongst themselves, trying to figure out where the gunblade specialist could be.

_There's a connection here…_"That's it!" Zell exclaimed, startling everyone huddled together on the flight deck. "Squall didn't go into the past! He went into the future! He went to stop… Norg! Rachel, or Sera, or whoever she was said it was Norg who was possessing people! Of course!" 

"Uh, Okay…" Laguna gave the blond SeeD a cross-eyed expression.

Irvine, Selphie, Kiros and Ward were equally confounded. "Huh?"

Zell raised his hands. "Oh yeah, I didn't have a chance to tell you guys; those people… well, jeeze, a lot of people, Norg used Ultimecia's machine to control their minds and—"

"Woa, slow down, Tiger? Which people?" Irvine's brow furrowed.

Selphie grimaced. "What do you mean, Norg? Didn't we take care of him a long time ago?"

Laguna was thoroughly befuddled again. "Who are you guys talking about?" 

Kiros placed a hand on his friend's shoulder as he leaned forward to listen to the conversation. "Mr. President, please be quiet. I'll explain it to you as soon as they finish."

Zell was shaking his head as he tried to answer all their questions at once. "All the people that were trying to kill either Squall or Rinoa, the second sniper in Deling, Headmaster Cid—" He stopped short at Selphie's horrified expression.

"Omigod! Rinoa! I forgot!"

The room was cold, empty, and frighteningly silent. It wasn't the silence of space, and it wasn't the silence of—she shivered involuntarily—the tomb, for there was a quiet background of the spacecraft's white noise. _It's the silence of emptiness._ "Where is everybody?" Rinoa's voice seemed strangely quiet in the Ragnarok's passenger lounge. She sat up on the reclining seat—it had been stretched out like a dentist's chair. _Or a mortician's examining bench._ The sorceress's fingers traced an invisible outline on the seat's cover. _What am I looking for?_ A vision of the chair, stained with blood, flashed before her eyes and vanished. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her chest, to the fabric above her heart. The cloth was smooth, untouched. _What—?_ She didn't have a chance to finish the thought; at just that instant, the door to the lounge swished open, and three noisy SeeDs burst into the room.

Rinoa was delighted to see them, and she made this clear by trying to throw her thin arms around all three friends at once. The silence of the room was replaced by a happy babble of voices. The sorceress couldn't understand why they were crying—even Irvine's eyes looked moist—until she felt the tears rolling down her own cheeks, dripping down into the corners of her joyful smile. "What happened?" She finally managed to gasp.

The enthusiastic responses were impossible to understand. Zell was practically dancing around the room as he shouted a re-enactment of some epic battle or narrow escape. Irvine's gestures were no less restrained, and Selphie was bouncing up and down with delight as she added her voice to the cacophony. It didn't matter that Rinoa couldn't comprehend what they were saying, one thing was evident; it was over. They had won. Everything was going to be okay.

Then, she dark-haired sorceress asked the question that returned silence to the room. "Where's Squall?"

[Next][1]

   [1]: http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~kuipersf/a1/main1.htm



	13. Resurrectio

(Email sponger42@yahoo.com for Purgatio's Website Containing Recent Updates)  
  
Chapter 13:  
Resurrectio  
The search was entering its third day when Laguna and Rinoa left. Balamb garden, dented, damaged, but still afloat, acted as the command center for the flotilla of SeeD assault boats and Estharian fast destroyers and light corvettes they had spared from their own search-and-rescue operations; all scouring the waters for any sign of Squall Leonhart and the SeeDs who had fallen or been dragged overboard when G-Garden sank and the boarding cables snapped.  
  
Zell was pacing nervously back and forth across the walkway leading into the infirmary. At first, there had not been enough beds to hold all the injured and the less urgent cases had been relegated to waiting on bedding and chairs—for those with only minor injuries—in the hallway circling the rebuilt central elevator column. However, now, after three days of frantic work, Doctor Kadowaki had patched up and discharged all but the most serious cases. One of those cases was Iris Deen. The blond SeeD practically jumped out of his skin as the door to the infirmary slid open. A student temporarily assigned to act as one of Doctor Kadowaki's aides stuck her head out the door. "You can come in now, Zell. She's awake." Silently, with a worried expression, the SeeD hurried inside.  
  
The normally empty infirmary was unusually crowded. A dozen temporary partitions had been rigged around the main room and the doctor's desk had been moved out into the hall to make room for the new beds. The aide pointed to one of the curtains. "She's in there." Just before pushing through the partition, Zell pasted a big grin on his face, though worry still picked at his mind. "Heey!" He tried to be enthusiastic and quiet at the same time as he burst through the curtain. He paused, arms spread in a 'Here's Zell!' sort of manner, the grin on his face becoming a bit wider as he looked down upon the bed's occupant. What a relief! She looks okay! Other than a bit of paleness, hair spread out on her pillow instead of bound in two pigtails, and the paper operating gown, Iris seemed no different than when the SeeD had last seen her—at the entrance to the elevator four days ago. "Zell!" Iris couldn't help but smile at the appearance of the lively SeeD. "I'm so glad to see you!" He voice was quiet but strong. "Me too!" Zell quipped as he bounced over to the side of the bed. It seemed as though a giant weight had been lifted off him. "I-I mean, I'm glad to see you too." "I know what you meant, silly." She laughed lightly. The blond SeeD knelt down by the bedside. "So, how do you feel? Are you... okay?" Iris's smile faded. "I feel... okay. I think I'm still on some drugs or something." She paused. "Zell, Dr. Kadowaki is going to tell me how the surgery went in a minute. I... I sort of wanted you to be here..." She didn't move her head, but her eyes turned to the martial-artist. "Is that okay?" Zell nodded vigorously. "Of course!" Just then, the curtains rustled and Doctor Kadowaki stepped into the small room. Zell was taken aback by the doctor's appearance. The woman seemed to have aged several decades since he had last seen her. Not only did she look older, but the rings under her eyes and slope of her shoulders spoke of a weariness not just of late nights or long hours. Without much preamble, the doctor began to speak. "Good, I'm glad you're both here. Iris, are you ready?" The student didn't nod. "Yes." "Okay." The doctor took a breath. "As I told you before you went in to surgery, the cable that hit you damaged your vertebrae, ground bone and debris into your spine and severed several tendons in your back. The debris, for the most part, was lodged in your pia mater meninx." Zell blinked, but—instead of scratching his head, he placed his hand on Iris's. Unperturbed by the SeeD's look of confusion, the doctor continued. "It was easy to remove and I don't believe there will be any long-term damage. We were able to reattach all your tendons and operate on your spine. I placed a brace on your vertebrae to stabilize them and I think everything should heal up just fine. Most of the breaks were just simple fractures." Zell gave the girl's cool hand a squeeze. The doctor paused for a moment before continuing. "Unfortunately, a splinter of bone has cut one of your lower anterior roots." She sighed slightly. "There's no known way to repair the damage." Iris's fingers tightened around Zell's. "What does all that mean?" "You can move your arms and head now. With therapy, you'll be able to move your back and trunk again. Over the next week or so, you should begin to regain feeling from your waist down at least to your hips." "And my legs?" Iris asked. "You may regain feeling in them. We will know in a month's time, but I'm afraid you won't have any motor control—you won't be able to move them." "Ever?" It was evident from the look on the woman's face that she had seen more tragedy than she ever cared to in the past few days, still, the doctor couldn't meet Iris's pleading gaze. "I don't believe so, no." Doctor Kadowaki turned her head. "I'm sorry."  
  
Iris didn't say anything as the doctor left. She didn't say anything for a very long time after that either. She just sat in silence, clutching Zell's hand.   
...  
  
Clouds of orange and pink cotton candy rolled, as the waves on the ocean below, across the baby-blue vault of evening. The swollen red globe setting in the West bleached the air and water until their paleness matched that of the SeeD's skin.  
Zell sat with chin in hand, staring blankly into the setting sun. Though his features betrayed nothing but calm, inside, he struggled to keep a thousand terrible thoughts from overwhelming his fragile peace.  
It was obvious that things were over. It could be felt in the air of the fighters in the Garden as they went about the business of reconstruction and training and in the tone of the newscasters yammering over the newly restored radio communications. The war was over. The great navies of the world's two superpowers had spent themselves in one last orgy of destruction and now all that remained was to pick up the pieces.  
But Zell wondered how many pieces were left for the SeeDs—no, for him, for them, for all of us...—to pick up. It didn't seem real. After their fairy-tale defeat of the incredibly powerful Ultimecia, nothing should have been able to stop them. Squall, Rinoa, Selphie, Irvine, Quistis, and Zell, they were the world's greatest fighters, they had triumphed against impossible odds, and all come through alive. How could something so trivial as a war take away so much? But it did, and we have to face facts. Zell's sigh felt deep and cleansing, but still the world and it's cares remained. The headmaster is dead, so is Edea, so are dozens of our own. Quistis is missing... And... And Seifer is dead. There was no question about it this time. He had seen the final act with his own eyes. It was no longer an abstract concept discussed in the waiting room of Galbadia Garden. It was for real. I watched my... friend strike him down. It was too much to take in, but it did help distract him. It helped him keep from thinking about the pain in her voice when she had asked—after holding his hand for so long—to be left alone.  
The sun was nothing more than a bright spot on the lips of the ocean when someone behind him spoke. "Zell?" It was Selphie. "Zell...? How is she?"  
The sun was gone. Behind him, the first stars would be appearing in the empty sky. The great watchful eye of the moon had not yet risen. Two heavier footfalls alerted the SeeD to the fact that Selphie was not alone. Good for both of you. It's times like these that we need companionship. That the need extended to himself, for once, did not occur to Zell.  
Selphie persisted. "Zell? Is Iris okay?" A very long silence fell before the blond SeeD finally spoke. "No. She's not okay, Selphie. She's paralyzed." Irvine's other hand dropped onto Selphie's shoulder as she took a step backward. Oh, Seph, please don't say 'you're kidding!' The sharpshooter had never seen Zell so serious. He had never seen the excitable martial artist brood. Well, maybe once. To his relief, Selphie's reply was quiet and cautious. "Oh, Zell, I'm sorry." She backed up again, bumping into Irvine a second time, indicating that they should depart. A moment later the Trabian and Galbadian SeeDs were huddled back up on the steps leading to the quad, engaged in a hushed conference, careful to keep their voices below a level audible to the martial artist. "Darlin' are you sure we should tell him?" Irvine cast a furtive glance at the figure hunched on what was left of the unfinished stage on the damaged Quad—ravaged now, by a total of four fierce battles. "That boy's got a lot on his mind." Selphie nodded. "I know, Irvine, but I'm sure he'd want to know. Maybe it'll even help him forget what he's thinking about now for a little bit." She nodded toward Zell. "He looks like a big blond Squall right now." "Now there's someone I wouldn't mind seeing right about now. Even if he was bigger and blonder than I remember." Irvine grimaced. "Well, okay. If you think we should, let's get this over with. It's not going to be nearly as hard to tell him as it will be to tell Rinoa." Selphie only sighed. "HE WHAT!?" Zell rocketed off of his perch. "No way! Laguna would never do that!" "I'm sorry, Zell, but he did." Selphie looked about, keeping her voice down and trying to quiet Zell as well. Not surprisingly, Zell refused to be quieted. "No way! No freaking way!" Irvine frowned. "Zell, saying that isn't going to change facts. And please, be quiet! We need you to help—" Zell's maddened hopping and arm-waving pre- empted Irvine's finished sentence. "Look, you guys, I may not have been around Laguna much, but I know that he would never, ever, ever do that!" The mercenary stomped a foot on the deck for emphasis. Selphie began to speak. "Zell, please—" Irvine cut her off. "Man, why are you being so difficult!? We're tellin' you, it happened and now, we need your—" Irvine was speaking loudly to keep from being interrupted, but it made no difference. "And I'm telling you right now, that—" Abruptly, Zell's eyes widened and, amazingly, his mouth snapped shut. Irvine took advantage of the unexpected silence. "Wouldja let me finish!?" Irvine ignored Selphie's insistent tugging on his sleeve in favor of finishing his sentence. "We need you to shut up, and help us figure out how to tell Ri—YI-YOW!!" The sharpshooter bellowed as Selphie stomped down hard on his toes. In the silence that followed, Irvine froze as a quiet voice spoke from behind him. "Tell me what?" The amber lights of the stairway framed Rinoa's delicate features with a soft aura of gold. The sorceress was clothed in a long plainly cut dress of soft fog-gray material. One long sleeve was pinched slightly by the thin band of a black ribbon tied lightly around her arm. Her lips were drawn up slightly with the smallest hint of quizzicality set over an expression of a peaceable wistfulness. Her dark eyes didn't seem to focus on anyone of the group, instead, she seemed to be gazing thoughtfully into another time or place. Rinoa wore such a peaceful expression, yet it frightened the three friends so much. At last, Zell spoke in a much-diminished voice. "Rinoa, I told them it's not true." One delicate eyebrow rose. "Oh, Rinoa, I'm sorry. President Laguna... he left. He and the Ragnarok are gone." Selphie said. Irvine hastened to add. "But the other Estharian ships are still searching. I'm sure the president had his reasons, Rinoa." Selphie stepped forward, reaching out to the distant-eyed girl. "He'll come back. I know he hasn't..." ...hasn't given up on Squall. "I know." Rinoa didn't move, yet somehow Selphie found her far out of reach. The shorter girl dropped her arms to her sides. "What?" Zell blinked. "Oh yeah. I know he'll be back. The Ragnarok's so fast, you know..." He trailed off at the slight shake of Rinoa's head. "No, I already knew Laguna had left. I spoke with him a few hours ago." It could have been their imaginations, but it seemed that the glow of lights around the sorceress had faded. "He knows that Squall's not here." Her dark hair hid her face as she turned her head. "And now, I know it too." She sighed. Her comments elicited negative shakes from everyone. "No, no, Rinoa. I'm sure we'll find him." Irvine said. "We just have to keep looking." Zell added. Selphie stepped forward again. If only she could touch her friend, she knew things would be okay. "Rinoa, there's no reason to give up." But the sorceress remained as distant as the look in her eyes. As the last light of the day fled the sky, so too did the light drain from Rinoa's figure. For a moment, her gaze did fix on the three SeeDs. "I'm sorry all of this had to happen the way it did." One hand turned upward. "I wish I could do something to change things, to set things right." Even as another chorus of protests, that Rinoa had done everything she could, were vocalized, the sorceress seemed to sink a little deeper into the night than did the rest of the group. A ghost of a smile flitted across the somber girl's lips. "You all are the best friends I could have ever asked for." She continued, not allowing anyone a chance to speak. "I just wanted you all to know that, whatever happens next, I always knew you would be here for me, for him, for us." Slowly, the sorceress's eyelids closed. "He knew it too." Zell tried to reach out, to place a restraining hand on the girl's thin arm. He wanted to cry out, but the words froze in his throat. He could not move, nor could anyone else do anything to stop Rinoa. "Thank you." The sorceress's eyes opened, but one could barely tell, for she was hardly more than a dark silhouette now. "Thank you all so much." The whisper hung in the air as the gathering darkness surrounded, then enveloped the fading shadow of the girl. Almost inaudibly, a breeze rustled through the trees surrounding the warm dim lights of the quad. "My friends..."   
"...farewell."  
And the spell was broken, they could move once more. But no one did, for Rinoa was gone.   
...  
For the first time in his life, Laguna had to resist the urge to shrug off someone else's concerned hand. "What are you doing, my friend?" Kiros's voice, ever quiet, maintained its reserved tone. Gripping the controls unnecessarily—the Ragnarok was under the steady hand of the ship's advanced computerized autopilot—Laguna steeled himself. "He wasn't there, Kiros. He won't ever be there." "Mister..." No, he's not the president now. He hasn't been since we destroyed the Lunatic Pandora. He's been... "...Laguna, there's no way you can know that." ...just a father. Kiros paused, looking over to Ward for support but the large silent man turned his head away. "When" If. "Squall comes back, it's most likely that he'll return to the same spot—in this timeline—that he left." He swallowed. "I'm sure of it." In truth, he was sure of no such thing, but it was the only hope they had; no matter how tenuous it was, he was ready to seize it and hold on with both hands for the sake of his friend. Laguna shook his head—or continued to shake his head, since he had been doing it since Kiros had begun to speak. "I do know, Kiros, and Rinoa knows it too." Laguna spoke quietly. "That's why I'm leaving." Not for one instant during his friend's campaign to divert so many ships from their duties to his own personal search-and-rescue usage had Kiros so much as contemplated reminding Laguna that Squall was just one lost man, among thousands. He valued their friendship—and incidentally, his life—far too much. But the pressure was mounting. Back in Eshtar, the revelers had not even left the streets before the three echelons of congress had began screaming for demobilization and an end to the emergency-driven direct executive control over the armed forces. During the days of the search, Kiros had been forced to spend more and more time on the Ragnarok's communication's suite requesting, begging, cajoling, and threatening dozens of political figures in order to maintain Laguna's authority over the fleet he had commandeered for his own private usage. So far, the soldier-turned- politician had been successful. But he knew he couldn't keep the dogs at bay forever. Sooner or later, word was bound to get out, and then, congress would want Laguna's head on a silver platter. He could get the fact that the president had saved all of Eshtar, not once, but three times now, to carry his friend far, but his powers of political manipulation were not limitless, and he was fast running out of maneuvering space. With things as they were, Kiros was glad Laguna was finally calling off the search, but still concerned about what his next move would be. Laguna's response to his inquiry did nothing to allay his fears.  
  
"You'll see when we get there." The president took the time to glare at his cabinet member. "Sit down, and shut up." Kiros complied, strapping himself into the navigator's seat with a sigh. He wasn't sure, when this was all over, if Laguna would still be president. He didn't bother bringing the topic up with his old friend however; he knew what Laguna's reply would be. Doctor Lowery smiled twice and frowned once as three men—arguably the most influential men in all of Esthar—stepped into her office. Ward, and especially Laguna were graced with the smiles. Kiros's appearance garnered him only a disapproving frown. It's Doctor Lowery, thank you very much. The scientist thought to herself, remembering her last encounter with the dark-skinned cabinet member. The beginnings of a foul mood vanished, however, as she turned to Laguna. "President Loire, again, it is an honor to receive you." And to what do I owe this honor? Felicitations for the flawless performance of my atomic bomb, no doubt. Dr. Lowery smiled happily to herself. She had spent the past week playing and re-playing the tapes of the nuclear fireball she had wrought. Still, each time she saw it, the raw power and terrible beauty of the explosion thrilled her to the core. Much to Linda's surprise, Laguna did not even mention the weapon. "Doctor Lowery, as the late Doctor Odine's assistant, are you familiar with his experiments in the fields of paranormal research?" The doctor's heart fell. Oh no, not this crap again. Resignedly, she answered the president's query. "Yes, Sir, I am indeed familiar with my predecessor's research into magic, para-magic, sorcery, witchcraft, and voodoo hocus-pocus." She threw in the last two in a vain attempt to forestall the question she knew would come next. Quite different from the bumbling ignoramus he had seemed on his last visit to the research complex, Laguna now was all business. "Good, then you are aware, no doubt, that Odine was in the process of designing a machine that would allow a person to send themselves back in time by—" "—Projecting their consciousness into the mind of a host body living in the past." Sighing, Doctor Lowery finished the sentence for the president. Why do I feel so disappointed? I knew it would come to this sooner or later. Nobody ever wants to talk about real science. All they want is magic this and magic that. "Yes, I know of his designs, though I never took any real interest in them. I judged such pursuits as not nearly worth the trouble for such unpredictable returns." From her expression and tone of voice, Linda tried to make it very clear exactly what she would think of being ordered to work on any such project. Laguna's laugh was short and bitter, as all ironic exclamations are. "I must agree with you there. Doctor Odine's research no doubt has caused much more trouble than it was worth, and it has certainly had some unpredictable returns." That caught the doctor's interest. "Really, Sir? What kind of returns?" Could it be that her late, largely unlamented mentor might not have been quite the crackpot that he seemed? As the door to Doctor Lowery's office swung silently shut on its well-oiled hinges, Kiros finally spoke. "Laguna, what did you just do in there?" Laguna didn't even turn his head. "I don't know, Kiros. I hope that I helped him." The dark official shook his head. "Your meddling, Laguna. You're doing exactly what you know you're not supposed to. We have no idea what's going on in the future, and we have no idea what your orders could lead too." Now, Laguna did stop and face his two old friends. "Kiros, Ward, I..." He stopped as both men held up a hand. "Mr. President, I know. You think you have to do this. If I were in your shoes, old friend, I would do the same thing. But I have to remind you that you could be endangering us all. I have to tell you that this might not be the right thing to do, that this might not work, that we all need to be prepared for that eventuality." Kiros paused for a moment. "But there is just the slimmest chance that it might, isn't there." It was impossible to tell whether the president's question was rhetorical. As any friend would, Kiros answered. "Yes. There always is." A quiet clicking filled the tidy little office as Doctor Lowery sat, chin in hand, absently clicking the mechanical pen. It was time to make a decision. What the president had asked her to do would take an entire lifetime of research—if it was even possible. She had paid almost no attention to Odine's idea for a magical time machine, sure that it was pure fancy—like a great number of his creations—and of little practical use. And now I'm supposed to finish his work? She shook her head. No, not just finish. I'm supposed to alter it, improve upon it, and then keep it a secret from everyone. Her eyes misted as—in her mind, all the papers she had intended to publish, all the real research she had been planning; everything—spiraled down an imaginary drain. No more recognition, no more accolades, no more journal articles. I'll disappear from the face of modern science if I stay here, if I build what the president wants. Unconsciously biting a nail, she turned toward her computer terminal. No, I won't do it. I can't just throw away my entire career on one impossible project. Her hands descended on the keyboard. If I fail, I would have thrown away my life for nothing. Midway through her letter of resignation, Doctor Lowery stopped. But... what if I succeed? She would be the greatest scientist who ever lived. For a full hour, she sat, indecisive, until all her fingernails were gnawed to the quick. At last, the researcher made her decision. Reaching forward, she snapped off power to the computer. Her words echoed in the empty office. "Time to get to work."   
...  
  
Squall Leonhart, below these words are instructions  
on how to use this machine to travel through time.  
  
I can never explain why I left you and your sister  
alone so long ago. I can never make amends for how I  
hurt you. I can only ask for your forgiveness. I love  
you, my son. Come home soon.  
  
  
Laguna It was all Dahyte could do to keep from snarling with rage as she read the words over again. What makes him so special? Why is he granted salvation? She couldn't deny it now; the rage burning within her; she wanted to kill him. She bared her teeth as he spoke from behind her. "Fate, what happened to her?" Squall had regained his feet. Dahyte did not turn, instead, she kept her eyes locked on the instructions engraved on a copper plate nestled within the hidden compartment on the time machine. "She died saving your life." You bastard. But he wasn't even that. He wasn't even that! The words she had just read proved it. Damn you.  
The knight's gloves fell upon the monster's shoulders. His grip was weak, weak but desperate. "How!? Tell me how to stop it! Tell me how to save her, Fate!"  
He fell away—a feather before the hurricane—as her wings unfolded with a leathery snap. The monster whirled on the knight. "You can't save her! You can't go back that far!" Dahyte screamed inside the mask, her voice tearing at her own hearing diaphragms. "I buried her with my own hands! She would let me do as much, but she would never let me save her!" The monster pointed an accusing finger at the knight. "And it's all because of you! Quistis died for you, Squall Leonhart!"  
Dahyte hated the look of relief that flitted across Squall's face—no, that was not enough—the emotion ripping through her was much more than hatred. She despised him, she despised the world for spawning him, she despised the entire universe for every conspiring to allow such a thing, because he didn't even care. He doesn't care. He only cares about one person, and it doomed her! She shuddered with anger. He murdered her. As surely as he tore out her heart, he murdered her. He wasn't even worthy to look upon her! Only an ancient whisper kept him alive now. If I could wish for one thing to come out of this... it would be that, Dahyte. It was so damned unfair, but she had promised. Friends keep their promises.   
The fate had turned away from him. It was doing something to Norg's time machine. Slowly, its wings folded themselves against its back. It had told him something important—but it had not told him what he wanted, what he needed to know. "I can't feel her." Norg had been stopped from killing Rinoa, but she still was gone. She still did not exist in this time. That meant— "Please tell me, Fate, please. Tell me how... tell me..." Squall choked on the words. "Tell me how Rinoa died!" Speaking her name set fire to the deep burns around where his heart had once been. "Tell me how to stop it!" Dahyte's finger stabbed forward, completing a final connection. As if in a physical manifestation of the monster's rage, the time machine exploded. Bits of metal and plastic showered against her mask. Debris pricked against her leathery skin, but the explosion had not been dangerously violent—it had not been designed that way. She stared into the swirling emerald pool that had taken the place of the destroyed time machine. "Never." She whispered so quietly, the old mask's microphone failed to pick up her words. His hand was on her shoulder again. Incessant, demanding. "Tell me what happened to her!" Her friend's blood was on that hand, and he didn't even care. Razor-sharp teeth ground together. The spikes on her shoulders and forearms stood erect, shivering with her rage. He knows he's going back. He knows the word has bent to accommodate him. He knows his friends have fought and died for him. Yet, he only cared about one thing, only thought about one life. How she wished she could kill him. Slowly, she turned to face the knight. Underfoot, something clanked quietly against the tiled floor. It was the tiny plaque, the message engraved years ago by a hopeful father. The words that couldn't be spoken, set in copper, to be delivered by the passing of time. I love you, my son. Come home soon. Long ago, after Dahyte had discovered the legacy President Laguna Loire had hidden for his son to find, she had resolved to show him—to help him understand—to tell him how his father had ruined himself. She had studied how Laguna had destroyed his presidency, lost his friends, driven himself to the point of infirmity—to an early grave; pushing, pushing, always searching for—fighting for—the way to bring his son back. She had learned it all, in the hopes that Squall would see, and forgive. It was what Quistis would have wanted her to do. But you were wrong, Quistis! He was never worth this! She had spent decades laboring under Norg for the boy that now stood before her. She would spend uncountable years more ensuring that he survived while letting her friend—her only friend—doom herself. And here he was, detestable in his ignorance. His concern for that other girl written across his face as plainly and openly as the full moon. She looked down at the words again. Come home soon. His life could be perfect, no doubt, if only he could read it, if only he could understand his father. Gently, she kicked the message away. He didn't even notice. Where was the harm in saying it? "I hate you, Squall Leonhart."  
  
She was back. Oh, thank God! She was back! Somewhere through that doorway of ivory mist, Rinoa lived. His chest tingled and his ribs drew tight around the fist of coal lodged there. Hesitant, lightly as a butterfly flexing its wings, his heart dared to beat, once, twice. It still trembled. She's in danger. "Tell me what happened to her!" He knew he would go back. He knew he could save her, if only the monster before him would tell him how. The fate turned to face him. For a moment, it said nothing. Then, in a low grinding hiss, it spoke. "I hate you, Squall Leonhart." He did not remember retrieving the gunblade, but now—as if by magic—it appeared in his hand, and that wondrous portal—that sweet soothing sense of her drove the lightning from it. The knight was whole again, he could wield his gunblade once more. "Please tell me how to save her, Fate..." his fingers tightened around the broken trigger. "...or stand out of my way." The monster seemed not to hear him. It's eyes, gray, flat, and dead, were distant behind the scratched Plexiglas. "I hate you, Squall Leonhart." It said again, in wonder, as if it could hardly believe the words. For only a few moments, he had been dead. It had seemed like an eternity. His emotions had melted like candles in the furnace of the loss that had struck him, now they stirred again. "I don't care." A hint of anger crept into his voice. Rinoa needed him. She needed him now, she needed him years ago, why did the monster prevaricate? His battered gunblade rose, not threatening, but ready. "Tell me, or go. I won't let you stop me from saving her." "But you will stop me from saving her!" She could not stand it any longer. To see his anger at being kept from his sorceress, to know that Quistis had been right. His determination tore at Dahyte with unbearable cruelty. One good thing to come out of this... In his eyes she could see perfection, and it filled her with sorrow and a distant longing. Is this a shadow of what you felt, Quistis? Did you wish for that kind of love in your life? "Damn you, knight Leonhart!" Faster than the dance of lightning, her arms shot forward, disarming him. You were right; this kind of love is worth dying for... Bitterness kept her from caring as her claws sank into the knight's shoulders. ...even if it is not ours. The knight was strong, he was incredibly strong, but the monster was a thousand time stronger. She pulled him toward her. One set of claws remained firmly embedded in his shoulder, the other bit deeply into his back. If only... Somehow, he had retrieved his blade. The weapon gleamed dully in the flickering lights of the smoky laboratory as it traced an arc above the monster and knight. Dahyte easily dodged the blow. Then, with graceful strength, she flung him into the jade well of time. Standing before the glowing green misty, the monster spread her leathery wings. Reaching out gently, hesitantly toward the portal, she spoke quietly to the uncaring future. "If only." A brilliant flash filled the empty room, reflected brightly in the dead man's glassy eyes. When the flash dimmed, nothing remained in the laboratory but a few smoldering bits of plastic and metal and a disfigured corpse; the legacy of something that never was.   
...  
The business the street-front shops were enjoying was as brisk as the chilly air of late winter in Dollett. Small groups of shoppers drifted up and down Main Street, wrapped in colorful sweaters, chatting amongst themselves and enjoying the fine cool weather. The icy sun was bright, but not so bright as to be spring like. The light it cast was sharp and hard, etching the shadows of the buildings in brittle relief against the walls of the narrow streets and alleyways. An errant breeze, having wound its way down from the frozen peaks, which guarded the entrance to the tiny dukedom, kicked up a few dead leaves and sent them skittering between the legs of the shoppers. A cloud passing over the hard sun abruptly plunged the city into shadow. Those on the streets drew their cloaks and jackets a tighter against the chill wind and many chose to duck into the welcome warmth of a bistro or café. and glow of the lowering sun and began making preparations to close up early. In the dimness of the cloud shadow, the alleyways seemed less charming and a little more forbidding. Those still out on the street clucked their tongues as their gazes drifted to the thickening clouds gathering in the snowcapped mountains or to their watches as they marked the lateness of the afternoon. Not too much later, the streets were nearly deserted. Shopkeepers—poking their heads out into the chilly afternoon—also marked the clouds and made preparations to close up early. Most of the shops were empty, and most of the taverns were full by the time the sun dropped below the deck of clouds sweeping out to sea. As the glowing orb was unmasked, it repainted the buildings in tall shadowy caricatures of themselves. Like one of the shadows brought to life by the brush of the cold sun, the girl in the gray dress seemed to appear out of nowhere. She was not at all dressed for the season. Though her dress was soft and long-sleeved, its material was far to light for the biting wind now whistling down the steep streets and driving chop across the dark waters of the harbor. She seemed not to notice the cold, in fact, she seemed to notice very little at all. The few unlucky souls still out that evening might have noticed the far-away look in the girls eyes, as she slowly traced a path down toward the sea, had they not been too preoccupied with getting out of the cold before the gathering storm hit. The girl made her way down the water's edge. Slowly, ignoring the wind that plucked at her hair and clothes, she walked out along one of the breakwaters. The old man was pleased with his catch. The bucket full of fat fish nearly made up for the rheumatism that had been bothering him all day. "Yep. These old bones know when the fish will be biting, by god." He remarked to himself. He placed a finger, hardened and blunted by the passage of years of labor, against the cold stone wall of the jetty. "And this old man knows when he needs to get himself in out of the damned weather." With an audible creaking of joints, he straightened. Once he had secured his pole, lure, and hook he struggled up a set of storm-worn steps chiseled out of the rock. As he neared the last step, the wind whipping over the top of the breakwater made him squint and blink away the tears the cold brought to his eyes. When his vision cleared, he started. The machine was relentless. Hunched and ugly, like a stubby steel spider, it charged after the fleeing student. The young man threw himself from the embankment, tumbling down onto the dry sand. For a moment, the device paused, it's single red eye scanning back and forth, searching for it's prey. No sooner had Squall regained his feet then the machine charged after him. Rinoa's fists were clenched, her shoulders tensed with fear. But he's going to make it. She was sure. He always makes it. Squall leapt the last few feet to the waiting transport. There was a whir of hydraulics and a flash of blond hair as the turret atop the SeeD vessel powered up. A moment later, Quistis depressed the twin triggers and the cannon spat a stream of armor-piercing bullets at the mechanical monster. Still, the machine pressed in. The rounds tore through its armored hide, but the machine was solidly built. The concussion of the shells impacting slowed it's advance, but it still clawed forward. Finally, a bullet severed a critical system, and the metal beast sagged backwards. A moment later, Rinoa sighed in relief as the transport backed away from the machine's fiery demise. "Miss? Please Miss, there's a storm coming, you need to get inside." The old man repeated his pleas. Still, the girl remained unresponsive as she stared unseeingly at the small bay. "Please miss, snap out of it. We have to take shelter." He looked worriedly up at the darkening sky. It was a bad blow that was coming, and there was no way an old man like him would be able to carry this catatonic girl off the wind-swept rocks by himself. He cast about for help, but the streets—seemingly miles away across the long, narrow breakwater—were empty. Gingerly, he reached forward to tug at her sleeve, worried that she might start and knock them both into the turbulent waters swirling around the stone jetty. "Miss?" Abruptly, the girl turned, her sightless eyes tracking some phantasm across the bay and out into the open ocean. The old man gasped and pulled back, nearly losing his balance. Still, she said nothing. The first drops of a stinging, freezing rain began to splatter on the cold stone. Where are you going, Squall? Rinoa sighed as the transport sped off into the setting sun. Didn't you sense me here? Didn't you know I was looking for you? It was silly, she knew that. In her heart, Rinoa realized what she saw were merely scenes from the past. She had as much effect on what happened here as did moviegoers at a motion picture show. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed as the SeeD ship disappeared over the horizon. Where are you going, Squall? Then, she remembered. Like a match flaring to life, light appeared in the girl's eyes. "He's going to see me!" She exclaimed to the old man, delighted. "Yes, yes, that's wonderful, child." He was too relieved to be shocked at her animation. "But we must get off of these dangerous rocks. The storm is already upon us." Rinoa nodded. Strange. How long have I been here? What day is this? What year? She didn't know. Have I really been in the past, or was it just my mind? Is it the present? In truth, Rinoa was held only a passing interest in what time or place it really was. All she cared for was where she was headed; To find him! A secret smile danced across her lips as she picked her way across the icy rocks, following the stumbling old man.   
"Whoop." The old man's arms windmilled as he lost his footing, only to regain it a moment later. Forcing an encouraging smile, he turned back toward the girl. "Be careful, young miss. These rocks're slippery, I nearly dropped my fish." Though he put on a brave face, he was worried. Hard pellets of sleet pelted his face, and a thin sheen of ice covered everything. His fingers and toes had gone numb. That poor girl must be chilled to the bone. It's so far back to the streets. As he picked his way across the rocks, he prayed fervently that the girl behind him wouldn't stumble or fall.  
The old man would have been better advised to pray for himself. For, a moment later, the toe of his old boot caught under an uneven slab of concrete. His other boot, sole worn smooth, skidded on the ice and he tumbled over the edge of the breakwater with a strangled cry.   
The fish smelled delicious. It lay, steaming, upon the cracked flatware surrounded by a small pile of green beans, a thick slice of buttered bread, and four quarters of an orange. The old man started as he looked up. His gaze traveled over the pictures on the wall—stopping, as they had a million times before at the smiling face on a faded photo of his wife, ten years since departed for worlds better than this one. For a moment, he lost himself in the washed-out color of her eyes. Then, shaking himself again, his eyes finally fell upon the clock. But that's impossible. Hadn't he just been out on the breakwater fishing? Hadn't he—no wait, there had been a woman there, a girl. Had they spoken? He shook his head and looked out the window. Sleet pelted the window panes and the wind whistled at the top of the chimney. "But how?"  
The roaring fire drove heat into the room as surely as it kept the frigid winds of the storm at bay. But he was sure he had not built it—or had he? The sink was dry, the pots and pans washed and put away, but he remembered doing none of this. Then, the smell of the meal laid before him pricked his senses. "This old brain of mine..." He chuckled, almost shrugging to himself as he prepared to dig in. It was not the first time this had happened. "Still, I wonder what happened to that girl...?"  
As his fingers, trembling with arthritis grasped at the fork and knife, they brushed a slip of paper lying under the silverware. It was a small, handwritten note. Fumbling with the thin sheaf, the man held it up to the light.  
  
Enjoy the fish.  
  
All my love,  
Rinoa.  
  
The man frowned. "Rinoa?" Had she done all this? He scratched his head. Somehow the name seemed familiar. Where did he know the name? "The only Rinoa I know of is the Sorceress Rinoa Heartilly." When he spoke the words to himself, a little thrill ran down his spine. He paused for a moment, squinting at the sheet of paper. "Naw... it couldn't be."  
Whoever this Rinoa had been, she certainly seemed like a nice girl. He nodded to himself as he set the note down and picked up his silverware. Maybe I'll hang on to that note. Put it in a nice box or an old frame "Just in case... maybe after supper." He decided. The old man fell asleep in his chair long after the fish had vanished from the plate, but long before he could fulfill his resolution.  
  
...  
  
Knight Almasy.   
"..."  
  
Knight Almasy.  
  
"Leave me alone, demon."  
  
Knight Almasy, what would you give to be with your sorceress again?  
  
"I have nothing left to give." Is this to be my hell? Am I never to be at peace?  
  
Do you know who I am, Knight Almasy?  
  
"You are the prisoner God." Seifer snarled into the darkness. Why couldn't he be left alone? "You are Hyne the weak and powerless; forever destined to be defeated by your own creations. Now shut up." He was already dead, he was already in hell. What other harm could disrespect do?  
  
The voice was silent for a long while. And you, Knight Almasy, are the failed knight. Forever destined to be tormented by visions of the one you  
loved and could not protect.  
  
"I am."  
  
It doesn't have to be this way, Knight Almasy. You will see her again.  
  
"I know what you will ask. No."  
  
But Hyne had already won. Release me, Knight, and live again. Live to see  
her again.  
  
"Never."  
  
Take a part of me into your soul. As I was for the Sorceress Sera, so shall  
I be your source of eternal life, eternal youth.  
  
"I will not betray my sorceress, not even for that."  
  
But you already have, Knight Almasy. Or have you forgotten her words so  
soon? Seifer could not forget. She had sobbed into his chest. "It really is you." She had clung to him, like a soul—lost at sea—clings to the dying hope of rescue. "I thought I would never see you again."  
  
You will be my vessel, knight. You cannot refuse. "I will not do this thing!" He was screaming. "Do you hear me?! I WILL NEVER DO THIS!!" He cast about in the darkness. Though he could see nothing, feel nothing, he still tried to find the source of his torment. He tried to silence the voice of the god. He could not succeed.   
Yes you will. He awoke to the quiet wash of gentle waves on white sand. The sun was hot on his neck, and his clothing was already dry. His cheek pressed against the gritty grains. He was sore, empty, tired and his joints creaked as he sat up on the deserted beach. To his right, the black blade rested—point down in the sand. On his left, the sapphire rested in a small depression. The pain of his loss still tore at him. She was gone.  
But she will live again. Suddenly, Seifer was seized by rage. Springing to his feet, he scooped up the Sapphire. "Damn you, Hyne!" He screamed as he threw the gem with all his strength. The jewel sparkled in the tropical late-morning sun, arcing down and disappearing into the azure water with barely any splash at all. The sand of the beach fused into molten glass as the knight raised his hand and Ultima magic boiled the sea where the sapphire had vanished. But something he had not felt in a very long time sapped the strength of his fury. Beneath the anger and despair, beneath the guilt and loathing, hope began to seep back into Seifer's frozen heart. The knight fell to his knees, breath coming in quick gasping sobs. He felt as though he had run a marathon with god, and lost. Still, still, though he hated it, he could feel the fluttering in his chest. He could feel the tingle at his fingertips. I could see her again? "NO!!!" He wrenched his black gunblade from the sand and reversed the weapon. Placing it pommel-down in the sand, he leaned forward, pressing the blade against his chest. This is my duty to her. I will die before I will give her to Hyne. The weapon pricked his skin. Blood began to trickle down the polished black steel.  
See her again. The whisper of the water on sand was not at all disturbed by the tortured scream. The ocean received, with open arms, the black gunblade as Seifer flung it as far as he could out into the water. His eyes wide, Seifer stared down at his open hands, as if not believing what he had not done. Without another sound, he fled into the forest.   
...  
The only sound was the tread of boots muffled by carpet and the quiet clinking of cartridges in his gun belt. "Open the door, Squall." Rinoa's voice shattered the silence. She startled herself with her own exclamation. His gloved hand rested on the knob, then he turned away again. "No!" Rinoa ran after him. "I'm waiting right inside for you! I've been waiting all night!" She reached forward to grab his arm, but her hands passed right through him. The knight froze. Beneath his jacket, his skin prickled with Goosebumps where Rinoa's hand had been. Suddenly, he turned, eyes almost hopeful. Rinoa smiled at him, but his searching gaze passed her by. Her face fell. A moment later, the knight resumed his pacing the hall of the Extrêmement Coûteux Hotel. "Dammit! You know he's out there! Go to him!" She shouted at the pale girl lying facedown, making a shallow depression, in the massive bed. Rinoa felt ready to tear her hair out. "Stop crying, stop feeling sorry for yourself and think!" She had passed through the walls as easily as a ghost. She had made no impression upon the bed when she sat next to the person quietly crying into the giant quilt, nor had her quiet words made any impression upon the blue-clad girl. "How can I be so stupid?!" She exclaimed to herself. Kneeling, she dropped down as close to the ear of her past self as she dared. "You know he loves you. You know he would never, ever leave you. He's yours as much as you are his! You two can never be... can never..." She stopped, a lump suddenly appearing in her throat. Sagging slightly, the sorceress in the gray dress tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes. "You can never be..." Her tear vanished the moment it hit the bed. "...apart." Never be apart. Rinoa didn't think she could remain kneeling any longer. She leaned forward to the side of the bed. Never be apart. Her eyes burned as she put her head down in her arms. Beside herself, she began to sob.   
...  
Ms Marcy Colfax shivered as she listened to the sleet pelting against the window at the end of the hall. Ooh. If only the storm had held off a little longer. She only had one more room on this floor to clean—since the hotel was nearly empty of guests due to the war and the winter weather—and she wasn't looking forward to walking home through the nasty weather. Pushing just a bit harder with her right hand to accommodate for the squeaky right wheel on her cart that always wobbled and pulled, she made her way down the hall. Suddenly, a noise not born of the storm outside or her squeaking cart reached her ears. "Ah, me! Whatever could that be?" She looked about a bit nervously, but of course, the hallway was empty. The sounds were coming from behind the closed door of one of the luxury suites near the end of the hall. "Oh my." Marcy wrung her hands. None of these rooms are supposed to be occupied. She thought, briefly, about reporting the noises to the bellman or the clerk at the front desk but decided against it. They would, no doubt, be cross because of the storm and say she was simply hearing things. No, the only thing to do would be to investigate herself. Gathering up her courage, and a sturdy wooden broom handle, in case courage was not enough, Marcy advanced on the room from which the sounds were emanating. Broom handle at the ready, she slowly turned the knob... only to find the door still locked. It took a moment of fumbling with her keys before she had unlatched the door. On pins and needles, she pushed the door open with the broom handle. "Oh dear. What are you doing here?" At the gentle touch of hands on her shoulders, Rinoa looked up. The past vanished, replaced by an elderly woman. "There now, child. Don't trouble yourself so, the world's not come to an end." Marcy's voice was calm and kindly. At her words, the girl's eyes misted over again and she sniffed. Marcy had the strangest feeling that she had seen this girl before, somewhere. "Now, now. Dry your eyes, my dear, and tell me; what's this all about?" The girl in gray seemed to fight with her emotions for a moment, then dissolved into tears again. Marcy, as she must have done a thousand times before with her own daughters—before they became mothers themselves and (she sighed) 'too old for that'—held her as she cried. "He's gone." Rinoa could barely gasp out the words. She had not shed a single tear since the day he had vanished, and now that the floodgates of her emotions were thrown wide, she felt her heart aching as if it would burst. Perfectly miserable, she cried until she thought she would faint, completely unaware of the world around her. "Oh god... he's really gone." The empty place inside of her seemed to pull at her sides. She felt as if she would collapse inward on herself, so she bore down, squeezing out the waves of sorrow until the fabric beneath her chin was soaked through. Marcy was grateful she still had a fresh towel thrown over one shoulder, for now she placed it across her lap as the girl sobbed inconsolably. After what seemed like an eternity, the sobs wracking the small girl's body subsided. "There, there, my dear, he was never worth a pretty girl like yourself anyway." Marcy spoke quietly but firmly.  
Her words sent Rinoa into a new paryoxm of sniffling. "No, no, it's not like that at all." She shook her head, to sorrowful—and a little embarrassed—to look up.  
Marcy tried to speak with the wisdom of her sixty-two years. "Oh, gone off to fight, is he?" This time, the girl nodded. "Don't worry then, child, he'll come back." She tried hard to sound like she believed what she was saying.  
At last, Rinoa did look up again. "But I don't know where he is. I don't know where to find him." Her deep brown eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted.  
The corners of Marcy's mouth crinkled with her reassuring smile. "You will." She nodded sagely. "I know you will." She shifted. "Now let's get up, and get you cleaned up."  
Sitting up, Rinoa wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry... I..."  
Before she could say anything else, Marcy shooed her toward the bath room. "Don't let it trouble you. Go on. Wash yourself up." Wordlessly, Rinoa complied and the sound of running water soon issued from the sink in the adjoining room. "You can help me finish up here." She spoke loudly so as to be heard over the sound of the faucet as she straightened up the bed. On a whim, she continued. "Then, if you like, you can come home with me. It never hurts to have company during these bitter, stormy, winter nights." It would mean extra work, true, but it had been so long since anyone had been over for more than just a quick visit... and there's something so familiar about this girl...  
Rinoa's voice was subdued. "You're very kind." Her hair was a bit tangled, her eyes still red, but they were dry, her words clear with only a touch of a quaver.  
  
So it was that Ms Marcy Colfax had a helper to clean and straighten the last room on the third floor of the Extrêmement Coûteux that evening, albeit a quiet one. Rinoa worked quickly and deftly in silence while Marcy hummed whatever struck her fancy, her thoughts already filled with plans for something of a special dinner. Perhaps I'll fix her one of my girls' favorite dishes... Without even noticing, she began humming to the tune of a popular dancing waltz.  
At the sound of the melody, Rinoa froze, her hand flying to her heart. Marcy noticed her sudden stillness and paused. "What's the matter dear?"  
"You said I would know where to find him..." Marcy was startled to see a smile on the girl's face as she turned toward her. "...and now I do." Rinoa rushed forward, clasping the startled woman's hands in her own. "I'm sorry I can't stay, but I must go." She stepped back.  
Marcy held up a hand. "But, my dear, where will you go? There is a storm and..." suddenly, the thought that had been nagging at her since she had first met the girl bubbled to the surface. I have seen her before! She's...  
Rinoa smiled softly as she raised a hand. "Goodbye Marcy." The air before her shimmered. "Thank you for everything!" She exclaimed as she stepped into the rippling air and vanished.  
Stunned, Ms Colfax sat down suddenly on the bed. "...the sorceress Rinoa!" Her voice was a silent whisper in a silent room at the end of a silent hallway. Outside, the storm howled in response.  
  
...  
  
The night was old and so bitterly cold that the frost had advanced up the very trunks of the forest's trees. Even the tangled piles of rotting logs, usually wrapped in the warmth of their own decomposition, were rimed with fingers of ice. Overhead, the moon was a gigantic dark disc, itself frosted with just a hint of a cold silver crescent. In so dark a sky, the stars looked down through the brittle air. Each pinprick of light so brilliant that the star shine seemed almost to chime as it rained down upon the snowy fields. At this small hour, not a creature stirred. Even the night hunters were motionless, cocooned in the tiny pockets of warmth captured by their fur and flesh.  
Far away, but brought near by the thinness of the winter night's air, the mountains stood in jagged relief. The snows of the high crags and glaciers glittered faintly. Drifts deep as the tallest city buildings, piled up by the howling winds of the storms that swept the rocky range, settled in the absolute stillness of the night lying over the entire island continent of Balamb.  
Higher and colder still than the mountains, the blackened and scarred remains of an Estharian military satellite tumbled through the silent spaces between the stars. Over the past few weeks, the feathery touch of the solar wind had gradually pushed the bit of metal and plastic into an elliptical orbit around the planet. As it orbited, the features of the planet passed below in stately progression. For a moment, sunlight glinted off the bit of broken solar panel—reflected from the brilliant white clouds swirling about the coastline of Dollett. A few moments later the terminator passed beneath and the debris sailed into a spectacular orbital sunset as the limb of the planet blocked out the sun. The horizon began to stretch and flatten as the broken satellite neared its orbit perigee. The surface of the solar panel began to warm slightly, as the ethereal upper wisps of the atmosphere brushed against its surface. As it delved deeper into the atmosphere, a nitrogen tank aboard the spacecraft flexed and burst silently, sending its regulator valve plunging toward the planet in a jet of released gas. Boosted by the thrust from the tank, the Satellite continued along it's decaying orbit even as the small bit of metal it had shed was welcomed by the atmosphere's fiery embrace.   
Legs dangling over the edge of a broken block of concrete, Rinoa watched the shooting star streak across the sky, holding her breath until it disappeared. She turned, and history painted the scene all over again, just for her.  
So intent. She could practically feel the seriousness in his gaze as he stared at her. For some reason she couldn't explain, she felt a thrill race along her bare arms as the young scarred man looked her way. It was automatic; the tilting of her chin, the peaceful smile. She nearly laughed. How had she known that his brows would draw together like that? After turning his head to the side, he frowned and looked away.  
And he'll keep looking away. He'll pretend he isn't watching me walk over to him.  
The girl in gray hopped lightly down from her perch on one of the shattered blocks of B-Garden's blasted foundation. Beneath her feet, the snow melted away with the memory of a warmer night of dancing and intrigue. "Dance with me?" The girl's voice chimed through the clear air, carrying over the frigid plain. There was no one there to reply, but that was not the time that Rinoa saw.  
The girl in gray danced with her memories, sometimes stumbling, sometimes gliding. The air rippled with witchcraft as her feet threaded the steps of a waltz in the brittle air over a bomb crater. A crack like a cannon shot rang out as a slab of cement split to make way for the sorceress while she courted the past.  
Rinoa's world spun as she twirled away, and then back again to place her hands, almost—but not quite—against his chest. He was so close her heart stopped, and she could see—in his eyes—that his had as well. Fireworks thundered and he hid his embarrassment by looking toward the sound. For an instant, Rinoa's eyes left his. When she looked back, nothing was there but a splinter of stone.  
Suddenly, the sorceress's breath became visible in the sharp air. Rinoa felt the crackle of frost beneath her feet and the bitter bitter cold surrounding her. He was not here either. It was all just a memory.  
Clouds of breaths drifted within the crystal goblet of the night as the sorceress's silhouette shivered in the starlight. Rinoa wrapped her arms around herself, fighting back the ice that pricked at the corners of her eyes. The chill became more pervasive as she shook her head. "No...." the ghost of the word condensed before her. "Not here..." Something colder than the icy night gripped her. Are memories all that are left of him? Ice tipped the shuddering breath she drew. Is he really gone? The thought was unbearable. She felt her knees turn to water. Her eyes squeezed shut. "Take me away from this place."   
...  
  
Blinding light poured in through the tiny armored view slit. A moment later the interior of the Galbadian tank resounded with the sound of the explosion, followed by the rattling of a hail of steel shrapnel beating against the sides of the war machine. "Damn them!" Landcruiser squad commander, Cale Deom, screamed, sick with helpless rage. The men in number seven had been good people. "Fall back!" He shouted into the headset microphone even as his own tank ground to a halt and then began to back up, treads tearing up the asphalt of the hamlet's main road. "Did anyone see where that rocket came from?" Of course they didn't, everyone's buttoned up. He thought angrily as negative replies crackled in from the three tanks remaining in his squad. Snipers in the town's buildings would be quick to pick off any landcruiser captain foolish enough to open his cupola for a better view. He would to have to order the battered infantry platoon attached to his squad forward to clean out the buildings. "And this is only a goddamn suburb!" Will there be anything left of us by the time we push into Timber City?  
Interrupting the commander's reverie, a panicked shout rang out from below. It sounded like Yoshi, the driver. "Enemy tank on the right! Oh Jesus! They're pointing right at us!"  
How the hell?! Commander Deom felt a shiver of dread crease his spine. "Gunner! Traverse right! Load SABOT!" He squinted through his viewing slit... There! Sitting in hull defilade, the enemy tank had been concealed behind a pile of rubble that had once been a house. A clang rang out from below as the gunner discarded the loaded high-explosive HEAT round in favor of an armor-piercing shell. Even as Cale watched, he saw blue smoke spurting from a poorly-tuned engine at the rear of the bulky design. We've got a chance! It was a IRT tank—one of the outdated Galbadian models the insurgents had seized when the province declared independence. "Driver! Reverse left tread, forward right! Get us turn—"  
The Independent Republic of Timber landcruiser fired. Despite its slow traverse mechanism and the inexperienced crew manning the tank, the shot was dead-on. The lead casing surrounding the core of the round liquefied as it impacted on the side armor of the Galbadian command tank. Excess kinetic energy was channeled into the hardened steel tip of the round, causing it to drill a hole straight through to the inside of the tank. The shaped-charge explosive behind the steel tip unleashed a blast of fire and destruction into the interior of the Galbadian tank. All this happened in the blink of an eye.   
"HIT!" Victor Gaborini exclaimed as he watched the hatches on the Galbadian command tank pop open from the force of the explosion. "Great shot!" Smoke poured from the stopped tank. "That's a kill! Two more at one and three o'clock! Get us out of here, Don!" Standing exposed in the cupola, he had to duck back into the hot smoky interior of the old tank to give his crew a chance of hearing his orders. He grimaced as he stood back up. The two other Galbadian tanks' turrets swung toward the retreating IRT landcruiser. Only twenty meters behind them was a ditch deep enough to hide the entire tank from enemy fire. The fallback position had been planned out days ago. Victor had no illusions that they would make it. At least we got two of them.  
A shot screamed across the narrow space between the three tanks. Surprisingly, it fell wide of the IRT landcruiser; blowing a gaping hole in the sole remaining wall of a bombed-out and burned post office. The other Galbadian tank did not miss.   
...  
  
Rinoa stared up at the thin fleece of white clouds backlit by the enormous moon. They seemed to create a thousand-foot-high ceiling to the cathedral of the outdoors. Beside her, she could sense that Squall was still asleep beside her. Closing her eyes, she let the feeling of peace envelope her. This was home, this was where she belonged. Timber had won its freedom, her knight was beside her. As the sounds of the ongoing victory celebration in the demolished railroad station drifted on the night air, she slipped into a peaceful rest.  
But something was amiss. Something was tugging her back to wakefulness. Someone wanted her to return to the present.   
"Rinoa! Holy cow! Rinoa!" Zone couldn't believe his eyes. One moment, he had been crouched behind a pile of fallen bricks and wondering where Zone had gone, and the next, he had found himself staring at the gray-clad girl that had suddenly appeared, lying in the broken bowl of the fountain in the middle of the square. He had almost stood up, so great was his astonishment, but another bullet ricocheting from the rubble inches above his head had put an end to that notion. The last Galbadian push into Timber had been repulsed, but dozens of sappers—from both sides—still sniped at anything and everything that moved in the streets of the battered city. And now Rinoa was sitting out in the open, unprotected, almost appearing to be taking a nap. "Rinoa! Wake up!"  
Abruptly, what had previously appeared to be a pile of discarded clothing hopped up, and sprinted in a zigzag pattern toward the fountain. Zone felt his stomach drop as he realized what Watts was trying to accomplish. "No!" He dared not speak above a whisper, and even as he said the word, a shot rang out. Even as Watts staggered and fell, Zone leapt up. "NO!!" This time he screamed it. The pistol he was carrying roared and bucked in his hand as he sprinted for the fountain, firing wildly at the unseen sniper.  
  
The scream, at last, drew Rinoa back to the a present that was too confusing to comprehend. Someone—"Zone?" Rinoa tilted her head to the side—was sprinting toward her. In his hand, so uncharacteristic of how she remembered her friend, a firearm barked as he fired at something. What's going on? She was about to ask her friend the very same question, but suddenly he pitched backwards as a bullet struck him. Rinoa was too confused to be horrified. "That's not right." She turned her head.   
The Galbadian sniper was sure the girl was looking right at him. Even as he centered the cross-hairs of the rifle's scope on her forehead, he could feel her eyes boring into him. She had the strangest expression of puzzlement on her face. His finger tightened on the trigger. Brought close by the telescopic sight, her lips whispered to him. "Stop."   
Time obeyed. In fact, not only did time stand still, but—like a rewinding video—it ran backwards for the sorceress.   
...  
A panicked shout rang out from below. It sounded like Yoshi, the driver. "Enemy tank on the right! Oh Jesus! They're pointing right at us!"  
How the hell?! Commander Deom felt a shiver of dread crease his spine. "Gunner! Traverse right! Load SABOT!" He squinted through his viewing slit... There! Sitting in hull defilade, the enemy tank had been concealed behind a pile of rubble that had once been a house. A clang rang out from below as the gunner discarded the loaded high-explosive HEAT round in favor of an armor-piercing shell. Even as Cale watched, he saw blue smoke spurting from a poorly-tuned engine at the rear of the bulky design. We've got a chance! It was a IRT tank—one of the outdated Galbadian models the insurgents had seized when the province declared independence. "Driver! Reverse left tread, forward right! Get us turned, now!"  
Dirt and asphalt fountained from beneath the tanks treads as it rotated to face the new threat. "Target! Firing!" The gunner shouted.  
Commander Deom didn't bother plugging his ears this time. He was still trying to figure out why the IRT tank hand not fired. They can't be that slow.  
CLANK!! The noise of the firing hammer slamming into the chambered shell echoed through the inside of the landcruiser. "Holy shit! It's a dud!" The gunner screamed in panic.  
"Load another one, Hyne damn you!" Commander Deom would have muttered a prayer, but he was sure he wouldn't have time to finish. "Driver, full reverse! Get us moving!"  
The silence that filled the tank was so complete that Cale thought they might have taken a hit. Then Yoshi shouted: "The engine's dead!!"  
CLANK!! Again, the firing hammer made contact with a shell, but the round failed to ignite.  
"Bail out! Everyone out now!" Commander Deom screamed, popping the hatch over his head. He harbored no hope of clearing his incapacitated vehicle before the IRT tank destroyed it, but to his surprise, he made it out onto the top of the turret without being killed. Even more surprising, no sniper rounds snuffed him out, nor did any flutter overhead. In fact, not a single sound of combat could be heard as he dropped to the ground.  
Yoshi, the driver, was right ahead of him, sprinting away from the tank and—at the same time—trying to keep low. Gradually, his sprint slowed to a run, then to a walk, then he straightened. "What are you doing!? Keep going!" Cale shouted.  
"Look" The driver pointed.  
Across the piles of low rubble that stood between the two tanks, the crew of the IRT tank was standing fully exposed beside their vehicle. One man, who had been pointing a sidearm at the Galbadians threw down his weapon in disgust. Cale fumbled for his own pistol, but Yoshi's words stopped him. "I don't think it will work either, Commander."  
What in the world? Commander Cale Deom couldn't figure out what to do next. As he stood in the middle of the blasted street, staring at his IRT counterparts, a few men drifted up behind him. Vaguely, he realized that they were the crew of the other two tanks remaining in his squad.  
The silence left by the departed noises of war was deafening. The sound of shuffling feet was loud as gunfire.  
"So... what now, Commander?" One of the men ventured, ducking his head slightly at the volume of his own words.  
"I don't..." Then the answer came to him.  
Go home.  
It was almost a compulsion. He struggled against the feeling. He had duty to attend to. "We should..."  
Go home.  
Suddenly, a vision of Deborah, his wife, appeared. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "What...?" A pang of something so strong it brought tears to his eyes swept him. "I wish I could..."  
Go home.  
Spreading his hands, he turned to his men. "We can't..." But they were already gone. All that were left of them were footprints in the dust of war that coated the road. All the steps lead...  
Home.  
Duty had to be performed, there was honor to uphold. Cale turned back around, but the crew of the IRT tank was nowhere to be seen. He stood swaying, held to the spot. A moment later, he too, was gone. The street was silent and empty, with no one left to fight.  
  
... The sniper smiled. He knew it! That wasn't just a pile of rags! He drew a bead on the running man and squeezed the trigger. The firing pin made contact with the shell, and nothing happened. Cursing, the sniper worked the bolt, ejecting the dud and loading a new round. The camouflaged rebel was almost to the scant cover offered by the fountain. He pulled the trigger. Again, his rifle clicked as the round failed. "Shit!" His whisper was quiet and angry. The dead round clinked as it hit the floor and the sniper chambered a third round. Using the sight on the rifle, he scanned the fountain... and froze. A girl, dressed in gray, was staring right at him. Where did she come from?! Though she was across the square, the sniper heard her words as clearly as if she had been standing right next to him. "Go home." He held his breath. She continued to stare at him. Impossible, there's no way she can see me. Still, she continued to look at him through the scope, waiting. Without really realizing it, the sniper released his grip on the rifle. It fell from the second story window, hitting the cobblestones below with a muted clatter. Zone watched the sniper stand up, and then walk away, with disbelief. Slowly, he too stood, holstering the revolver he carried. All across Timber, an unbroken silence reigned. It was into this cathedral silence that Zone whispered. "...Rinoa?"  
  
  
  
...  
Tick...tick...tick... It was a gold-rimmed clock face, set into a large, remarkably clear, quartz crystal. Two black hands inlaid with patterns of gold denoted the hour and the minute. A slender finger of silver traced out the seconds, slowly stepping around each minute. Every day, Delphi Matchgar spent a little more time staring at it. He was beginning to feel as though the ornamental timepiece was marking the seconds he had left. The recent series of events had not instilled in the former Secret Police Chief any confidence that he could hold on to the country he now controlled. President Matchgar, like President Deling, was a president in name only. Though he had purged the most vocal of his opponents and used the military might at his command to crush any dissenters, he was well aware of the fact that the longevity of his rule was directly proportional to the strength of his armed forces. That strength was now faltering. Gone were the glorious early days after his coup. He had laid his plans so perfectly then. Caraway was under his control—set to be executed once he had signed the necessary documents, those in the military loyal to him had been sent to the far corners of the empire. With the help of the Sorceress Sera and her associate, Caraway's daughter and that other hero of the nebulous conflict they were now calling "The Second Sorceress War" had been set up to be discredited and then assassinated by SeeD mercenaries—or at least it would have appeared that way. Though the assassinations had failed—one of a few minor sticking points of those early days when his forces swept him to power—he had thought his military and the sorceress could keep Caraway's daughter from staging any further insurrection. He had made it explicitly clear that he would not tolerate another fiasco like the one she had created during Timber's bid for independence. The Sorceress Sera and her associate—the man from the future possessing General Caraway's body—had assured him that they could control the young witch. Matchgar cursed as he thought of the resources poured into that venture; the funds to dust off a launch vehicle for the lunar mission, the military operation to chase after Caraway's daughter and Squall Leonhart, the submarines pulled from patrol duties to mount an assault on the Estharian carrier group that had pulled them to safety. What did he have to show for all that? The lunar mission had stopped transmitting after reporting an attack by some strange form of monster. The return vehicle was still parked in a useless lunar orbit, waiting for a shuttle most likely destroyed months ago. The mechanized infantry he had sent into the mountains after the sorceress and knight had been ravaged by rebels in the foothills, the sever winter weather that had descended upon the mountains themselves, and then the Estharian holding action along the coast. In the end, Caraway's daughter had escaped and the forces he had sent chasing after them returned broken and demoralized. The only successful operation had been the naval battle between the Estharian carrier group and his own forces. Every Estharian vessel had been sunk and he had hoped, for a time, that the sorceress had been eliminated. The recent events in Timber dispelled that hope. The sorceress Sera had not been heard from since she requisitioned a yacht and a helicopter. The man from the future disappeared after commandeering a submarine on coastal patrol. Matchgar could only assume they had either both been killed or had fled forever. In truth, Matchgar was almost relieved. A lifetime in the Secret Police had taught him to recognize the games within games that people played, and he had no doubt that the Sorceress Sera and the man from the future posed just as great a danger to himself as did Caraway and his daughter. Damnation! He slammed a fist down on top of a pile of reports denoting troop movements near Galbadia's southern border. If all had occurred as he had planned, he would not be required to worry about either Caraway or his daughter. As it stood, both remained major concerns. The fact that a single SeeD could compromise his highest-security facility and play havoc with his carefully laid plans galled him to no end. Matchgar had already issued orders to eliminate Zell Dincht and his family, but his core group of Secret Police assassins was now in disarray. He no longer had the time to manage every detail of the death squads, and he dared not appoint a successor to the position of Secret Police Chief, lest he suffer the same sort of coup as he had wrought. Of course, had the antics of the Sorceress Sera not caused him to siphon off so many of his available resources, he might not have been worrying about SeeD at all. As it was, troop shortages forced him to pull his marines occupying Balamb Garden off to more important duties, allowing the reversal of his brilliant invasion of B-Garden by a SeeD counterattack. Placing his head in his hands, Delphi Matchgar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the massive desk. There were simply too many factors at play. Galbadia Garden had been retaken by the rebels under the command of General Caraway and its current whereabouts were unknown. All of his offensive thrusts, attempts to subjugate the rebellious southern provinces had been turned back by stiff resistance—orchestrated, no doubt, by Caraway himself. The Lunatic Pandora had been lost, destroyed by some spectacular form of new weapon the damned Estharians had constructed. President Matchgar had hoped that a second Lunar Cry might knock the Estharians out of the war for good, instead, he had only managed to strengthen their resolve to fight. His navy was now pulling back to defend essential ports along the Galbadian coast from the Estharian counterattack. Matchgar could only pray that the technocrats from across the ocean wouldn't attempt to use a second nuclear device on the Galbadian homeland. His own engineers were working feverishly to duplicate the new weapon, but no matter how many examples he made, by executing those who worked too slowly, his scientists continued to tell him that it would be at least three, maybe as many as five, years before Galbadia could hope to field a nuclear weapon of its own. "And now, this!" Matchgar could barely contain his rage. At thirteen hundred hours—Deling daylight savings time—yesterday, every piece of military hardware in, over, and around Timber had suddenly ceased to function. As if that were not bad enough, after their weapons ceased to work, entire divisions had simply melted away from the frontlines—walking back to Galbadia. Some reported in to command posts at fallback positions, but enormous numbers simply disappeared. It was the largest single mass desertation in the history of Galbadia, and probably the history of the world. There was no doubt in President Matchgar's mind that the event was the work of the Sorceress Rinoa. Apparently, the weapons of the resistance fighters had ceased to function as well, but with so much hardware left inside of Timber's territory, there could be no doubt that the insurgents would take advantage of the involuntary cease-fire to capture massive quantities of abandoned arms. If the guns ever worked again in Timber, the advantage would go overwhelmingly to the resistance fighters. Despite the seemingly endless bad news, a few hopeful notes had come through. His operatives in Esthar successfully destroyed Dr. Odine's laboratory and the researcher himself. The sorceress, Edea Kramer—former ruler of Galbadia—had been killed in the invasion of B-Garden, though most of the mercenaries had escaped, rumors abounded that her husband, Cid Kramer—leader of SeeD—was dead as well. Now, Matchgar decided, was the time for another powerful symbolic victory. Though he had purged anyone with any power from his government, there were still dangerous rumblings, brought about by the spate of recent defeats. He needed another high-profile success, like the capture of Balamb Garden, to garner support in the Secret Police forces running the country for the next round of murders that would be necessary to maintain his power. Fortunately, he had been planning just such an operation for quite some time. He glanced at the clock a second time and nodded. He had kept the man waiting long enough for there to be no doubt about who held the power. President Matchgar depressed a button on his intercom. "Patricia, send mister Samuelson in." He turned his high-backed chair toward the presidential office's large window. After a moment, the doors to the office opened, admitting a stocky, slightly balding man. Though he appeared to be middle-aged, the man exuded a sense of controlled power. His movements were smooth and effortless. The man was not large, but something about him gave the impression that he could break bones as easily as toothpicks. After entering, the man stopped before the desk, standing at ease and facing the back of the chair, waiting to be recognized, but not willing to make the gesture of asking for attention. Something of a silent contest of wills ensued; Matchgar pretending not to notice the newcomer, and the man waiting to be acknowledged. Eventually, the president could pretend to contemplate the scenery no longer. "Tell me, Gregory, are your men assembled?" "Mister President, they are at the heliport now. We can be in the air in five minutes." The man's sentences were uttered with a clipped precision. Slowly, Delphi Matchgar allowed his chair to rotate until he was facing special agent Gregory Samuelson. "And have you collected the equipment you will require?" He gazed unblinkingly into Agent Samuelson's eyes. Gregory met the soulless gaze unflinchingly. "The last of the tools smuggled in from Esthar were checked out last week. It is all genuine Odine brand material." He paused. "If anything can penetrate the sorceress's magic, it is this equipment." "Are you and your men prepared to use it?" Delphi Matchgar allowed his eyebrow to raise a fraction of an inch. "We are all prepared to do anything necessary for the greater glory of the Galbadian Empire, mister President." Agent Samuelson's reply was chilly. A long silence fell. President Matchgar let it fester. Let him sweat a little. Let him know that he cannot play these games with me. You may be good, Mister Samuelson, but I am the master of this domain. In his mind, Special Agent Samuelson was already a dead man. A dusting of poison in his drink, a needle concealed in a handshake, even a bomb under his bed—if it came to that—for Gregory Samuelson was far to dangerous to be allowed to live once he completed his mission. At long last, President Matchgar spoke. "Very well then. Deploy your men. You know where to start your search." Woodenly, Special Agent Samuelson saluted. "Yes, Mister President."   
...  
"Bless your heart, Child, this is the second time you've saved Timber." Ferrin Sosare bustled about the steamy kitchen, her activities belying the fact that she was actually the leader of a small nation, and not just a grandmotherly figure. "I don't know how we're ever going to repay you." Despite the brief smiling glances she sent Rinoa's way, despite her compassionate manner, the elderly woman was using her activities in the kitchen to hide something; she was just the slightest bit uncomfortable. No, that wasn't all. In truth, she was almost a little afraid of the silent girl in gray standing at the door to her battered—but still standing—home. "I wish that we could sit down to a nice dinner and chat for a while, my dear, but I'm afraid the troops have to be fed." Hauling a large wooden spoon out of a truly massive cauldron of steaming broth, she banged the utensil on the rim of the pot. "But make yourself at home, child. I'll serve you up supper as soon as it's ready. Flanking Rinoa, Zone and Watts traded uncomfortable glances. "Prelate Sosare, perhaps I could find someone else to take over here?" Watts ventured. Shaking the wooden spoon at him, Ferrin made her next point quite clear. "Oh no, boyo! Not in MY kitchen!" She waved a hand over her shoulder as she pulled the squeaky stove door open. "I'll put up with your grand-high- whatsit business only as long as it doesn't interfere with my cooking." She paused to wipe her brow. "I may have been elected into this Prelate nonsense, or whatever, but that doesn't mean I can't quit whenever I want." Zone leaned over to whisper in Rinoa's ear. "Sir, she's been going like this since the fighting started. I don't know how she does it. Between strategic meetings and feeding a better part of the army... I don't think she's slept in days." Rinoa nodded distantly. She glided forward, placing a hand on the aging woman's shoulder, she spoke softly. "Please sit down, Ms Sosare." Ferrin avoided Rinoa's eyes. "Oh dearie, please excuse my rudeness, I just can't leave all this—half of it will boil over if I take my eyes off it, and the rest will burn." She gasped slightly as she suddenly found herself seated at the table facing the sorceress. A shock of eerie discomfort flitted through her chest. "Oh, my pots!" She began to rise. Rinoa held up a hand. "They will take care of themselves. I've seen to it. Please, Ms Sosare..." "Dear, stop with all this 'Miz Sosare' business. You can still call me Ferrin, child!" Even as she tried to make the words as friendly as possible, she felt her own insincerity. Yes, it was still dear little Rinoa sitting there across from her, but something had changed within the girl. Ferrin had endured invasion, famine, war, and nearly every pestilence on the face of the world, but never had she come so close to such powerful witchcraft. It did something she had long thought impossible; it frightened her. "Ferrin, please, I can't stay long." Rinoa's voice was soft, but clear. "Listen to me; you have to slow down. You can't keep this up." She sees something. The leader of the Independent Republic of Timber immediately thought. She can see into the future. Rinoa smiled sadly as she shook her head. "It's not what you think, Ferrin. It's just that, I can see the strain you are putting on yourself. Everyone around you can see it too. You have to listen to us. You have to take it easier. Timber needs you." Slowly, Ferrin sank back into her chair. "I know, dear. I know." She sighed. "But, Rinoa, my boys and girls are getting killed out there," she waved a hand tiredly toward the door, "every day. Shouldn't I, we—those that send them out to die—give just as much?" Rinoa leaned forward, placing her hands over Ferrin's. The prelate was shocked at how cold they felt. "Ferrin, you've given your entire life to give them freedom." Rinoa shook her head. "No one can fault you that." The revolutionary leader's eyes dropped. She was silent for a moment before speaking. "Except me, child. Except me." Slowly, Rinoa reached over to embrace the older woman. "I'm sorry. When I started, I never knew it would be this hard." Fighting back the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes, Ferrin whispered as he hugged the slender sorceress. "I did." The poor girl still felt distant, but Ferrin no longer harbored any fear of the sorceress Rinoa. "Thank you for this little peace you've given us, dear." Sincerity strengthened Rinoa's voice. "I only wish I could do more." A sad smile creased Ferrin's features as she leaned back. "Don't feel bad, child, I know why you can't stay." She nodded. "You go. Go find him." Rinoa swallowed and had to avert her eyes. "I'll try." Her voice was almost a whisper. Standing, she turned to face her two oldest comrades—still her friends, no matter where their allegiance had once lain. "Sir...?" Zone began to speak. He nearly said: 'are you sure you can't stay?' Of course she's sure she can't stay. Saying that will only make things worse. He bit his tongue and accepted the sorceress's brief hug. "Zone, Watts. I'm going to miss you guys." Rinoa stepped back. "You take care of Ferrin now." "Don't worry about us." Watts tried not to sound to unhappy. "We'll see you later." Rinoa nodded wordlessly, and stared at the floor. With one hand, she traced a small oval in the air. Inside the line drawn by her finger, the air began to ripple and shimmer. Rinoa looked up, offering one last sad smile, then she stepped through the portal and was gone.   
...  
It was the hour of nervous awakenings. The slightest noise in the rooms of light sleepers could send them into a waking panic. They would sit bolt upright in their beds, wondering if that had been a knock at the door. Or was someone picking the lock? The clock on the wall would tell them to go back to bed, and with trepidation, the would, only to sit back up as the sound of boots crunching on the dirty snows of Deling's late winter passed beneath their windows. Hearts pounding, the wakening souls would wait for the thunderous knocking on their door. Only after they could not stand to hold their breath any longer would they let out a breathless gasp. Eventually, they would dare to inhale again. Only after the clock marked another few minutes would the fear subside; they would not be among those included in tonight's purges. Throwing pillows over their heads—as if to hide from the world outside—they would spend the few hours left before dawn trying in vain to capture a few more precious minutes of sleep. Beneath the arch, a single unbroken bulb cast a pale glow over the crusted piles of grimy ice pushed up by the passage of the snowplows. Compacted by the tramp of hundreds of feet, the miniature glacier sat locked to the pavement by it's own melt water—frozen back into ice by the night's chill. The heel of the girl's boot brushed against the pile of snow, and came away dirty. Rinoa failed to notice. Instead, she traced out the scrawl of graffiti with her eyes, her lips marking the name as she read it. "Caraway." A puff of breath hung in the still air. To speak that name now in Deling was dangerous. To write it, deadly. Rinoa slowly turned. For a moment, her eyes lingered on the pathway through the grassy mall, back to the old mansion where her father had once lived. A flood of memories waited there, but like the stream that ran across the mall, they were frozen by something much more important—something as sure and inexorable as the turning of the seasons. The sorceress's eyes traveled to the front gates of the presidential mansion. President Delphi Matchgar rolled over again, then finally gave up his battle with wakefulness. Three times during the night he had been sure he heard footsteps approaching from the hall outside the room. Three times, he had pulled the pistol from beneath his pillow and waited silently behind the doors. Three times, nothing had happened. Lowering the weapon, he sighed and rubbed at his grainy eyes. I need the sorceress dead, and I need it soon! He wasn't sure how many more days he could keep up his current state of watchfulness. He had been forced to rotate the mansion guards twice in the last week alone. He had seen the looks they had given him, the whispered conversations when they thought his back was turned. Someone was plotting something against him, and they seemed able to get to his guards—randomly pulled from assignments with the Galbadian military—as quickly as he could cycle in new ones. But it is all worth it! Matchgar smiled to himself as he walked to the window. Throwing back the heavy curtains, he gazed out across the glowing cityscape of nighttime Deling. The man's icy stare blended perfectly with the cold radiating from the giant panes of bulletproof glass. Everything I see before me... if I were to climb to the top of this mansion—to the top of the highest building in Deling, I could turn a full circle. Everything that I could see, and a hundred miles beyond that; it's all mine. He had spent his entire life attaining this position, he'd be damned if he would let a handful of insurrectionists take it from him! Slowly, Delphi Matchgar let his gaze drift, from the sparkling spires of the downtown skyscrapers in the distance, to the snow-covered mall and its scattering of monuments to the greatness of his Galbadia. Suddenly, President Matchgar froze. Impossible! Normally expressionless, his mouth dropped open in a silent gasp of horror. Impossible! The word kept repeating over and over again in his mind. He stifled an impulse to rub his eyes and blink at the apparition standing beneath the dim lights illuminating the gateway monument—some primal instinct told him to remain motionless in the hope that she would not see him. She sighed. The walls around the presidential mansion were topped with twisted razor wire. Piled around the base of the massive gates, sandbags provided cover for the guards manning two heavy machine guns. The smooth snow cover lying atop the great circle of pavement before the mansion was wrinkled and marred by crusty drifts that wrapped around the giant iron tank jacks, concrete barriers, and more razor wire. If she closed her eyes, the sorceress could feel whispers of the pain and sorrow the civil war was bringing to the peoples of the Galbadian continent. The silent pain of the sleeping cities mingled with her own sense of loss but could not dilute it. Only for an instant did she allow the thought to cross her mind. Give up. He's not coming back. Stop searching, help your people. Rinoa shook her head. Without him, she could no longer care about the plight of Galbadia, Timber, or anyone. Selfish as it might be, she would not be distracted from her quest. Except... Something—a flicker of intuition—caught the sorceress's eye. Looking up, her gaze traced over the reinforced gates of the presidential mansion, up over the balconies with gilded rails, and to a window at the top floor where it met with the stare of... a murderer. The flashes of memory—not all of them her own—struck at her heart like the stab of a dagger.   
... "Oh God...!" The man turned away, stumbled away, the tears of loss that had been held back by that last, tenuous, hope that it might not be her; that someone was mistaken, broke free at last. The wall before him swam in an ocean of pain that seemed ready to drown his heart. His hand grasped the cold cinderblock, but its support gave him no comfort. He had thought he was hardened. He had seen the bodies of comrades, friends blackened and disfigured by the horrors of war. He had written the letters of condolence, so many that he was sure no sorrow could remain in him. He had faced death, and seen the worst ways in which it came. He had thought he was strong. He was mistaken. For never before, and never in his darkest nightmares, had he ever imagined it could happen to her. And still, the coroner stood, dispassionately gazing down at the battered shell of his love. No! "Get away from her!" His voice was a low growl, tearing at the back of his throat. No one will see her like this! "So, General, you can identify the body?" The examiner's voice was cool. Don't call her—don't look—don't be! In a flash, Caraway was across the room, his sidearm appeared in his hand. The medical examiner did not even have time to cry out before the general struck him across the face with the weapon. Richard Caraway swayed as rage and pain vied for control. He wanted to kill the man lying on the floor before him. He wanted to kill Deling. But the pain would go away fastest if he... Slowly, Caraway turned the pistol toward himself. He could stare down into the muzzle of the weapon, but his eyes dared not stray to the form lying on the table beside him. Closing his burning eyes, he pressed the weapon hard against his temple. But he could not pull the trigger. A single thought intruded on the heartache he so desperately wanted to escape. Rinoa... And Richard Caraway knew, no matter how he longed to, he could not succumb to his cowardice. No matter how afraid he was of a life without ...her..., he could not leave his daughter behind. "Oh God, Julia!"   
... The world swam in a pink haze before her eyes. She could barely breathe, something was pressing into her chest, and the air smelled strongly of fuel and hot metal. She coughed weakly. What happened? Where am I? Slowly, she realized she was staring at the dashboard of a car, no—it was her car, but something was wrong. There was glass everywhere and the smooth plastic of the automobile's interior was wrinkled and torn. She tried to move, but the steering wheel—shoved forward by the force of the collision—pinned her to the seat. The door had crushed around her left arm and a searing pain shot up from her legs—trapped beneath the crumpled dashboard. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard the slam of a door, and footsteps crunching on the gravel shoulder of the road. As she looked up, her eyes squinted against the sun and the lancing fire from a huge bruise that was forming where her forehead had hit the rim of the steering wheel. A shadow blocked out the sun. Shards of glass fell from her hair as she reached out toward the dark figure. "Help me."   
... He glanced down dispassionately at the woman as he drew the silenced revolver. Behind him the troop transport sat at the side of the road, its forward contact guard dented, scratched, and streaked with the paint of the woman's car. In the silence after the collision, it muttered quietly. Before him, the demolished engine of the small automobile hissed as a last burst of steam escaped the mauled radiator. Through the broken windshield, the bloodied arm of Julia Caraway reached out toward him. She said something, but he was not listening. What she said made no difference to him. She was nothing more than one more stepping-stone on his way to greatness. He leveled his weapon. He waited just one second—for that look of horrified recognition, for the widening of the eyes, signaling that she knew that he was in control, that he was about to end her life. He pulled the trigger ever as the thrill her terror gave him raced down Delphi Matchgar's spine.   
... Rinoa's eyes snapped open. The emotions coursing through her were indescribable. Whether it had been her imagination, or a true glimpse into the past, what the sorceress had just experienced defied all categorization, all rationalization. She was lost again in the terror of her past. The same horrible mix of sorrow, confusion, and pain she had experienced—during the silent somberness of the rapid funeral; then while weeping outside the locked door to her parents', now just her father's, room; and at last on the long lonely train ride to Timber where she had finally found some comfort in her grandparents' arms. She had managed to lose herself there, in Timber, to hide her hurt and let it slowly turn to resentment, to anger, and to the tireless energy she would eventually tap to fight for that nation's independence. When she was a little girl, it had taken weeks for the sorrow and confusion to turn. Tonight, in the smallest hours of the Deling morning, the pain of the Sorceress Rinoa flared into anger with the blink of an eye. She took one step toward the presidential mansion. Beneath her feet, the compounded layers of snow and ice melted away, afraid of the touch of the sorceress's hatred. "Samuelson! Where the hell are you?!" Crouched behind the curtain, President Delphi Matchgar hissed into satellite phone. "She's here!" The volume of the voice that erupted from the speaker made Matchgar cringe. "Mister President, we know. We are currently in the air over downtown. Odine's detectors indicated she was somewhere in the city a little less than an hour ago." "No, damn you! She's right here! In the middle of memorial mall!!" Matchgar risked a glance around the corner of the heavy curtain. He gasped and pulled his head back. "Shit! She's seen me!" The voice crackling over the phone sounded confused. "Sir?" "Damn you, Samuelson! Get your men to the Presidential Mansion right now!" President Matchgar was amazed to find that his hands were shaking. "You must stop her! All of Galbadia is counting on you!" In truth, most of Galbadia might not be so disappointed if the sorceress turned the Presidential Mansion into a pile of smoldering rubble—as long as she got Delphi Matchgar as well, but the President was not about to admit as much. Private Cory Malberger yawned and stretched, then immediately wished he had not. As he extended his limbs away from his body, the frigid night air seemed to suck away what little warmth he had managed to keep trapped with his too-thin winter fatigues. Grumbling, he kicked at the recalcitrant heater. As uncomfortable as he was, however, Cory could not be too critical of his post. Guard duty in the heart of Deling beat getting shot at on the frontlines any day—no matter what the temperature. Blinking, he squinted out across the dull snow, toward the gateway. He frowned at what he saw, and rubbed his eyes. When the scene did not change, Private Malberger reached the conclusion that someone really was crazy enough to brave the cold out there, and they were walking this way. He reached for his radio. "Zone one. Are we expecting any visitors?" He released the transmit button and waited for a reply. None was forthcoming. "Zone one, anyone awake up th—." Suddenly, the calm of the night was broken by a tremendous SPANG! The guard watched in amazement as one of the five-ton tank jacks leapt into the air—seemingly of its own volition—and then fell back to earth, tearing up chunks of concrete and making an incredible racket as it cartwheeled across the street. A moment later, another of the giant iron jacks erupted—like a kernel of popcorn—and tumbled aside as a dark figure approached the gate of the Presidential Mansion. "Who goes there!?" The shout rang out from the machine-gun nest situated opposite Cory's. A muted whining filled the air. Seconds later, Private Malberger saw the other guard dive over the wall of sandbags around the gun. Immediately, a green flash erupted behind the fleeing figure. Sand, boards, dirt and metal fountained toward the dim morning stars. "Fuck this!" Cory hesitated only long enough to grab the walkie-talkie sitting next to the heater before vaulting over the sandbag barricade and sprinting away from his post. He threw himself facedown into the crusty snow moments before an explosion eliminated his guard post. Once the rain of debris ceased, Cory rolled over, looking back toward the gate. A diminutive girl, dressed all in gray, was walking slowly but determinedly toward the mansion. Her expression was grim, but that was not what caught the private's attention. His gaze locked to the girl's eyes, pupil-less and seeming almost to glow with flat amber light. Before her, a concrete barricade cracked, then crumbled to dust, the barbed wire topping it melting into golden-red streams of molten metal. Cory's firearm pressed against his side, but he did not dare—even for an instant—to consider drawing it. The sorceress reached the massive iron gates of the mansion even as shouts rang out from the grounds inside. She raised one small hand as if to knock. With a crack that shook the windows of the mansion, the two enormous gates tore free, taking a ten-foot section of the wall with them. Inside the mansion's grounds, the twenty-foot tall doors crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of concrete dust. It is amazing how different everything looks from the air. Despite the heavy parka, the wind howling in through the chopper's open door chilled Special Agent Gregory Samuelson to the core. Beneath him, the snow-covered grounds of Deling's monument mall spun, adding to his sense of disorientation. He had walked through the grounds below countless times, and flown over them on other occasions as well, but now he was performing a tactical operation from the air. That changed everything. Agent Samuelson had served in the Galbadian Secret Police long enough to automatically identify every good sniping position, to check for good fields of fire and low-profile, minimum-exposure hideouts. However, he was new to airborne operations, and hovering out in the open, aboard a noisy obtrusive helicopter, cut against the grain of his experience. "I'm bringing us in over the front gate. Get ready, sir." The voice of the helicopter pilot over his headphones was barely audible in the rush of wind and beating of the chopper's blade coming in through the open door. Gregory shook his head, trying to reorient himself. Beneath him, The Deling Gateway was a large block surrounded by yellow sulfur floodlights rather than the sturdy arch he was used to seeing. The chopper swung sideways as the pilot slewed the aircraft parallel with the front wall of the Presidential Mansion. The machine descended, and the features of the monuments around the mall took on their more familiar faces. There. Former Galbadian General, Richard Caraway's mansion's spires provided him a reference as he looked left. Gregory then shifted his gaze forward. Now he could recognize the barricades and wire thrown across the road outside the presidential mansion. A straight finger of black—for a moment, he mistook it for open water—threw him off for a moment, until he realized that some of the snow covering the road had melted and what he was seeing was bare pavement. The line melted into the snow sliced through the barriers and entanglements, between the demolished gates of the mansion, and ended inside the mansion's grounds. Standing at the end of the thread of blacktop was a figure dressed in gray. Agent Samuelson raised the rifle. A round was already chambered. That must be the sorceress. The helicopter continued to crab toward the mansion, the downwash from its blades kicking up miniature tornadoes of ice pellets. Agent Samuelson peered through the scope on the rifle. For a moment, all he saw was blank wall, then, he corrected his aim and a head of dark hair—blowing in the helicopter-driven wind—came into view. Yes, that's her. There was no hesitation, no moment of drama. He simply pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked against his shoulder as the magical round winged toward its target. She did feel the wind from the helicopter, she did hear its approach. She simply chose to ignore these things—just as she chose not to listen to the shouts of guards running along the walls of the mansion, or the ringing of alarms around the grounds. Rinoa was completely focused on a single goal; killing Delphi Matchgar. She could see him. She could sense his mind—see him hiding behind the wall and curtains, as if they were as transparent as air. She could even see his thoughts, probe his memories. So she did. Ignoring all else, she looked for one single remembrance; she had to be sure. The gun fell from President Matchgar's nerveless fingers. She sees me... Behind the curtain, he sank to his knees. She knows where I am... Abruptly, a memory flashed to the surface of his consciousness. It was nothing, meaningless. Just another one of a thousand assassinations performed long ago, yet he couldn't banish it. What is this? The memory of killing that woman—he didn't remember who she had been—kept playing and replaying itself. You. Who said that? "Wha...?" He couldn't form words, his mind rebelled against him. A single thought managed to force its way to his lips. "The sorceress!" Suddenly, it became so important that he had not known her name, or anything about that woman he had assassinated. Another of his own thoughts died before it could form words. "Aauugh!" His hands dug into his scalp. Get out of my mind!! "...gerrr ouuu..." He focused on her face, on the streams of blood that had run into her pleading eyes. A snap of recognition, not his own, jolted his brain and he heard an anguished cry. "GERR OUUT OF MAAE M-M-MII—" Blackness descended before he could finish. The darkness lifted, and he was himself again. The full weight of his terror was unmitigated by anyone, for the sorceress was there—before him—eyes glowing amber, hand upraised. Sobbing in silence, Rinoa wrenched him from his hiding place. Overhead, the sky rumbled with impossible winter thunder as she held this vile thing suspended in the air before her. He could not even remember her mother's name, just as he had he had discarded the names—the lives—of thousands of others, all in the indulgence of his own lust for power. She couldn't stand him, she couldn't even stand to touch him through witchcraft. I would give anything so that you would never have existed. Instead, she would do the next best thing. The sorceress raised a hand. Even as she gathered it, she recoiled at the power she would use. Did all this really come from Hyne? Is that why it is so hard to save life, but so very easy to kill? She shivered, but the memory of what this thing hanging before her had done drove the thoughts from her mind. Something sparked at the edge of her vision and she turned her head for an instant. The bullet whined by, so close she could feel the shock of its passing. Agent Samuelson cursed and re-sighted. "Hold it steady, goddamn it!" He shouted into his microphone. As he squeezed the trigger, the helicopter dropped again, the jolt sending the round wide of the sorceress. The smoking semi-automatic rifle cartridge hit the floor of the chopper, silent in the hailstorm of noise. Gregory sighted again. Only three enchanted rounds remained in the clip. Behind her, Delphi Matchgar landed on the snowy ground with a thud as Rinoa's attention turned to the helicopter hovering less than two hundred yards away. No sooner had his feet hit the ground, than the President was scrambling madly away from the sorceress. Without looking, Rinoa pointed her left hand at him, her sorcery holding him frozen in place. Without thinking, she made a sweeping gesture toward the chopper. "Begone!" Lightning lanced through the clear sky overhead even as a bolt of electricity sprung from the ground. The two brilliant channels of electrical power converged on the flying machine, and the helicopter disappeared in a thunderclap of bursting light. Gregory Samuelson shouted with surprise and covered his eyes as the energy of the lightning strikes surrounded the helicopter. A burst of static blared over his headphones, and the chopper bounced underfoot. At the rear of the helicopter, one of the other agents pulled his hands away from the magic-damping device as the Odine-designed machine began to crackle and glowed cherry-red. As the light faded, agent Samuelson heard the pilot shout. "Are we still alive?" "Looks like it." The agent operating the magic-damping device replied. "But I don't know how much more of that this thing can take." "I don't know how much more of that I can take." Gregory muttered as he sighted on the sorceress a third time. Rinoa gasped as her sorcery struck the helicopter. "No!" She had not wanted to destroy the machine and its crew. I didn't mean to... The lightning strike faded, and the chopper remained airborne. Relief vied with confusion as Rinoa stared at the machine. A muzzle flash from inside the open door of the flying machine returned her to the present. She held up a hand to stop the flight of the bullet, but the round was enchanted and did not obey her. An instant before the bullet would have penetrated her heart, time ground to a halt. The helicopter hung suspended in mid air, it's blades frozen in the air. The wan morning stars overhead did not twinkle, nor did the snow underfoot glitter. The world was as still as a photograph—except for the sorceress. Her limbs feeling as heavy as if they were made of lead, the Rinoa stepped aside before releasing time again. The thump of the helicopter blades started out low-pitched, and then quickly built into a high pulsing rhythm. The supersonic whine of the bullet spooled up from a low buzz to a scream, until it kicked up a tiny puff of ice as it smashed into the ground beside the sorceress. She wavered on her feet. To control time, to stop it or reverse it, took so much strength. Rinoa felt as though she were caught up in the current of a swift river. It took all her energy to push against the flow of time, just bringing the world to a standstill was draining beyond words. To push upstream more than a few seconds was impossible, she simply did not have the strength. She was caught in a river of time, and no matter how much she struggled, it continued to sweep her inexorably further from those precious few happy days when she had been with Squall. Delphi had fled and she did not have the strength to pursue him. Her magic was useless against the men in the helicopter. Rinoa reached out. It took all her will just to trace the oval in the air. "What the hell?!" Somehow, the sorceress had dodged his shot. She had moved with impossible speed and avoided the enchanted bullet. Only two rounds left... His expression was grim as he took aim again, only to be greeted by empty air. The sorceress had vanished.   
...  
He had never seen the president in such a state. So, something finally got to the unshakable Delphi Matchgar. The leader of Galbadia was, indeed, shaking visibly. "Get her, Gregory, I don't care what it takes." Looking less than presidential, Matchgar clutched a cup of coffee with hands that were china-white claws, as he sat hunched in his robe. Agent Samuelson nodded. "We can get her, Mister President, but it is going to take... something extra." "Anything you need." President Matchgar's voice was unsteady. He stared down at the mug he held, eyes never once lifting from the surface of the brown liquid it contained. "I want a guarantee." Gregory folded his arms. Abruptly, Matchgar did look up. His eyes met with agent Samuelson's and stopped. Silence filled the room for a moment. "What kind of guarantee?" Just a hint of the old Delphi Matchgar seemed to be creeping back into the pale gentleman seated, in the small dining room, across from Gregory Samuelson. "A guarantee of safety... for me and my men." Gregory allowed Matchgar a moment to blink, but not time to speak. "I want you to declare us as heroes of Galbadia. I want you to endorse our every action. Most importantly, I want you to tell the Galbadian public that we are under your protection." Mr. Samuelson paused for a moment, turning away from Delphi Matchgar. "I want you to tell them that you take personal responsibility for our safety. So, should anything happen to us... it would be considered a personal failing, on your part, to keep us safe." Matchgar spoke with a tight voice. "And the part of the Galbadian people, of course." "Of course." Agent Samuelson nodded without agreeing. Did you really think I didn't know you would kill me the second I was no longer essential to you? "I'll see what I can do, but first, you must kill the sorceress Rinoa." Matchgar released his grip on the mug to steeple his fingers. Samuelson shook his head. "No. Now. You will announce the sorceress's death in the morning. You will proclaim our status as national heroes then, as well." Cocking his head slightly, Gregory studied the faded portrait of some forgotten ruler, hanging from the dining room wall. "Then, my men and I will find her and dispatch her." Delphi wanted to remind this serviceman who was the president here. "If I refuse?" If I order you executed right here, right now? "It will... expedite our efforts... if finding and eliminating the target... is in our best interests." Very carefully, Gregory picked his way across the words. As long as you can still kill me, the sorceress will live. As long as she lives, she is still a threat to you. Who do you fear more, Delphi? Her... He smiled to himself. ...or me? The president was silent for a very long time. Finally, he spoke. "If she surfaces again, if she causes a disturbance, you will carry the blame. You will all hang as liars and traitors." Agent Samuelson smiled. He had gained exactly what he had come for. Without speaking, he nodded and walked from the room. Stopping at the doorway, he turned to face Delphi Matchgar once more. "If she surfaces again, it will be to kill you." He knew the president would not forget those words. He did not want him to.  
  
...  
It could have been an illusion, it could have been just an eddy in the storm of thickly falling snow, but it was neither. Clutching the weapon—wrapped in white camouflage cloth—close to himself, Special Agent Samuelson blinked away the snow collecting on his eyelashes, but was otherwise motionless. "Straight ahead, ten meters." The agent beside him whispered, almost too quietly to hear. Imperceptibly, Agent Samuelson nodded. With one hand, he pointed two fingers up, then motioned to the overhang, barely visible through the pines in the blizzard. The man beside him nodded and disappeared into the storm. A minute later, Gregory Samuelson glanced at his chronometer. Time. Tensing, he flicked the rifle's safety off. On the ledge overhanging the obscured mountain cave, he could make out two light shapes moving in the storm. A muffled hum cut through the falling snow as something transparent and blue flashed between the two forms. The two men dropped from the overhang, the web of blue light stretching taunt between them. Agent Samuelson was up and charging through the waist-deep snow. As he slogged through the frozen powder of the alpine forest, the rarified mountain air caused his breath to come in quick sharp gasps. Each intake burned his lungs, without seeming to provide any oxygen. His exhalations swirled and fogged in the dense fall of snow. He burst through the stand of short trees blocking his view of the cave's entrance, weapon held at the ready. The two agents looked up at him. Without saying a word, they folded the Estharian staffs they each carried. The shimmering net of magical energy disappeared as the Odine-designed magic-damping net was shut off. One of them pointed to a small set of boot prints in the old snow inside the cavern. "She was here." We were right. Samuelson unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt. "Group two; shut it down, she's gone. All teams; prepare to move out." Releasing the transmit button, he spoke to the silent forest. "We know where she's going next."   
...  
With a swift flick of her wrist, Rinoa fended Squall off for a third time. Thwarted, the knight pulled his spoon back, nearly spilling the half-melted mass of marshmallow. "No, Squall! You eat it!" She laughed. "I know you're lying. You do like marshmallows." He frowned. "But I won't enjoy it nearly as much as you will." Raising the spoon with the cooling mass of puffed sugar, his arm advanced across the table of the small mountain bistro. Moving quickly, Rinoa pointed a finger at squall, casting a light Slow spell. Then, she retrieved a marshmallow from her own mug of hot cocoa and dumped it in Squall's. Raising her empty spoon, she crowed with victory while Squall Esunaed himself. Suddenly, the sorceress found herself trapped by Squall's arm. Leaning over from his chair, the knight pointed a spoonful of marshmallow at the sorceress's nose. "Oh, you like it slow, do you?" Gently tightening his hold on Rinoa, he slowly moved the spoon toward her mouth. "Oooooooh... nooooo... dooooooon't... eeeeeeeat... meeeeeee..." The normally stoic knight squeaked in a ridiculous marshmallow voice sending Rinoa into paroxysms of laughter as she struggled vainly against Squall's arms. As the spoon drew closer and closer, Rinoa drew her lips tight, trying to hold in her mirth while keeping her mouth shut. She stared cross-eyed at the marshmallow and shook her head as she tried to lean away. Squall's fingers danced across her waist maddeningly, eliciting a ticklish laugh. The moment Rinoa opened her mouth, Squall deftly maneuvered the marshmallow to its goal. This time, it was the knight that shouted—quietly—with triumph. Rinoa grabbed the spoon, shifting her gaze to Squall and frowning with faux-annoyance. Setting the utensil aside, she pouted at her knight. Then, before he could move away, she clapped her hands to the sides of his face, bumping her forehead against his, and kissed him. As it turned out, both sorceress and knight ended up sharing the marshmallow—after a fashion.  
  
Rinoa sighed, one hand drifting to the rings still hung about her neck. Her eyes flickered across the empty resort restaurant—closed now, because of the war. In the pale storm light, the colors seemed to have leached from the scene. Almost, it seemed as though this were but a photograph, and that the vivid memories of her past were the true reality. How she wished it were so! The door to the bistro did not open, but still, the sorceress stepped outside. The spectacular mountain vista she had once shared with Squall was now obscured by the snowstorm. Silent, the flakes fell thick and fast. They melted into the sorceress's dark locks and collapsed into beads of water on her eyelashes and nose. She threw her head back and closed her eyes. Each snowflake was a chilling prickle on her skin. Not here either... The set of boot prints lead from the door of the darkened ski resort café, into the snow. After only a few feet, they disappeared. In a moment, the softly falling snow had erased them.   
...  
Waves gently rinsed the white sand with the clear night sea. Star shine twinkled from the smooth ripples meandering across the surface of the bay. Between the reflected sparks of stars, the water was as black as the sky above. The gray of damp sand denoted an erratic boundary between the inky water and the softly glowing dry beach. It was along this boundary that the girl walked. Far behind her, torchlight from the hotel luau flickered across the sand and water. She was far enough from the celebration that not even the rhythmic thumping of the drums could be heard above the whisper of the bay waves. She could hear them, though. It was not a dance—not really. Their feet pounding the sand, along with those of a dozen others, their bodies shaking in time to the rapid thunder of the drums. A bonfire roared, close and hot, eliciting a delicious sweat from their burning skin. Writhing and swaying with the rhythm, they moved with a supernatural unison, even as their motions grew more chaotic. He stared at her, unblinking, through it all. The night, the smoke, and the dust turned his irises black. The yellow and orange flames danced within them. Their motion was driven by the drums to be the channeling of all their drives and desires. She felt energy pour through her being as feet, legs, hips; all were in constant motion. Her shoulders and his undulated, while somehow remaining still. Drops of sweat flew from the ends of wildly matted locks as their necks bent and heads shook. Her hair whipped across his face, trailing, mixing streaks of ash and dust as it slapped his skin. She saw herself reflected in the intense black pupils of this dancer; her knight. She watched the reflection of his hands fall upon her bare shoulders, watched them come away wet with perspiration as her own arms weaved upward and her hands grasped his wrists. Muscles tight with exertation, she lifted his hands and their arms formed an arch between the two dancers. Resistance fell away as he raised his arms even higher, and she moved into him, her feet still kneading he soft sand underfoot. She saw the flash of her own grin in his eyes as their bodies collided. Skin slid against burning skin, smearing sweat and ash. Cinders swirled about them as a flaming log crashed apart within the bonfire. The drums beat louder and faster. Other dancers flung themselves across the sand, or pounded the ground with frantic steps. Some shouted. Dozens watching the dancers clapped, screamed, and whistled. Lowering one arm, Rinoa pressed her open palm against his bare chest, and he fell away from her as she pushed. The two dancers pivoted around their locked arm. Not gently, they collided, his back slapping against hers, her head thrown back onto his shoulder, his onto hers. His breath and gasp seared her ear as his free arm intertwined with her own. Knees bobbing as they hammered the sand with the balls of their feet, the two locked arms. Suddenly, Squall heaved forward. Rinoa tightened her shoulders as she felt the pull. The air shook with the building crescendo of the drums as bonfire wheeled away replaced by skirling stars, torches, and soft sand, while she flipped backwards across her partner's back, releasing arms and sliding across his shoulders, landing in a cloud of dust, facing Squall. The final beats of the drums seemed loud enough to shake the stars from the heavens. Rinoa's arms again locked with Squall's as they pulled themselves together. A final stroke, and the thunderous beat ceased, replaced by the cheering of those still able to stand. Exhausted, many dancers fell to the ground. Squall and Rinoa hung on the edge of collapse, their muscles shivering as they pressed together, skin covered with perspiration and burning with the night's fever.  
It would have been just another stop on that long-ago tour of Galbadia. It would have been just another dance of marionettes whose strings were played upon by the hands of others. But that night, the night and sorceress let themselves forget the game they were forced to play—grabbing what snatches of real life together they could—even while others conspired against them. The stars rippled with restrained tears as she shook her head. He isn't here. All I felt... Memories. Memories were all she sensed. The sorceress could feel them. Everywhere, across the entire planet, visions of her knight called out to her, but they all felt the same. They all tasted, ever- so-slightly, of the past, of things lost forever. She almost wanted not to watch, but she couldn't bear to turn away from watching the two young lovers splashing in the midnight water. Only a few months ago... Rinoa looked on with burning eyes as the phantasms from the past washed clean the dirt and grime of the luau under the stars. Sitting just beyond the tide line, she hugged her knees to herself as snatches of remembered conversation drifted to her from the past. We promised, so many times, we would never leave. Were we just trying to convince ourselves that we would have a choice? The tears now ran freely down her cheeks. "Squall!" If only—if only, just once, her shout wouldn't disturb the memories. If only, once, he would look up, startled, at her cry. But this time, just as every other time, the vision of the past vanished. The phantasms of history leaving no trace they had ever even existed. "Squall..." Her voice was tinged with pain. "...where are you?" The memories were torture. Each one driving her a little closer to giving up hope. She could feel it, and a panic was rising within her. What when she could no longer bear to remember? What will I do then...? Rinoa held up a hand, pausing nearly forever before conjuring a portal.  
  
"Sure is a nice place." James G Klair whispered as he quietly extended the tripod on the Odine device. "Think, mebbe the next time I get some leave, I might like to come back here." He flipped open a small control panel and fished in one pocket for a screwdriver. "Nice, warm nights, even in the middle of winter. Palm trees, island girls—or at least hotel employees dressed like island girls..." Locating the tool, he proceeded to flip a series of small switches on the machine. "...yeah, think I'll definitely look into coming here." He was careful to keep his voice low, but he continued to talk as he worked in the near-darkness. "With the war on, tourism's down. Betcha I could get a pretty good deal, don'tcha think?" He turned to his compatriot. The man was new to the squad, and looked fairly young. He was also silent. Special Agent Klair frowned and went back to work. Man, these secret police guys sure don't talk much. He shrugged to himself. Well, that makes sense, I guess. You talk too much and you don't live very long. Grinning, he plugged the magic dampening device into a battery pack. Not old Agent Klair, though. I talk enough that everybody thinks I'm harmless, and nobody bothers watching me too closely. "Well, I think I'd like to take a vacation here, anyway." Still, the new team member said nothing. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but James hadn't put his finger on what it was just yet. He picked up his radio. "Team two. The device is ready to go." The voice transmitted over the speaker was too quiet to be heard from more than a few feet away. "Initialize. The target has been spotted heading this way." Roger that. "Confirmed." James said. He released the transmit button, and flipped the switch to activate the magic-dampening field the squad would be using against the sorceress. Those were the last two actions of his life. A moment later, James G. Klair was laying face down, on sand that was soaking up the blood from the bullet hole in his head. His disguise dispelled by Odine's machine, Seifer reached over and deactivated the device. He bent over the satchel of former Special Agent Klair, and retrieved a time-delay incendiary. Without hesitating, Seifer twisted the primer cap on the explosive and set it beneath the magic-dampening device. Without so much as a backward glance, the scarred former knight set off through the dense jungle growth lining the beach of the bay. There was no drama. Coldly, Seifer replied to the whispered challenge of the single agent standing watch over the sniper assigned to kill the sorceress. "Clamp?" "Cee." Seifer stepped from the undergrowth. The guard had not even begun to squint, through the darkness, at the knight's unfamiliar face before Seifer stepped forward and pressed the silenced pistol under the man's chin. Gregory Samuelson turned from the rifle's sight at the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. He barely had time to recognize the shape of a firearm in the hand of the man standing over him. Given another instant, Agent Samuelon's mind might have formulated a question or two; who, what, why? Given two, he might have even managed to reach for his own sidearm. As it was, Agent Samuelson died with his shoulder still pressed up against his rifle, lying behind a hunting blind, in the middle of the tropical night. The night air was heavy with moisture and close heat in the undergrowth, but Seifer's expression was colder than the polar deserts. Reaching around the body, he plucked the rifle from agent Samuelson's hands. Seifer straightened and pressed the stock of the weapon to his shoulder. Keeping his left eye open, the knight gazed through the telescope mounted on the rifle with his right. After a moment of searching, he spotted the faintest glimmer of reflected light through the dense dark vegetation. There was almost nothing to see by—only the weakest fingers of starlight that managed to trickle down through the forest canopy. Still, after a moment, the knight resolved the shape of the rifle in the second sniper's hands. The glass lens of the other rifle glittered faintly with reflected torchlight from nearly a mile away. It would be guesswork determining where the second sniper's head lay, but Seifer was not unduly worried. He shifted the sight a few degrees to the left and waited. A mosquito whine filled Seifer's ears as the insect landed on the knight. A moment later, it flew away, unsatisfied. Other things, flitting and crawling in the tropical night, avoided the man's dark presence. Finally, after a minute-long eternity, a walkie-talkie—still attached to Gregory Samuelson's belt—hissed quietly. "Three. One, two; radio check." There. The man's face had appeared for only an instant, illuminated by the tiny red light on his radio handset. Seifer realigned the rifle's sight. "Three. One, tw—" The rifle barely kicked at all. Despite the flash suppressor on the end of the weapon, the burst of light the round emitted as it zipped downrange was dazzling. Seifer did not have time to be dazzled, however. He tracked the sight back to the right as he worked the bolt, ejecting the spent round and chambering a new one. The smoking shell casing hissed as it fell on moist loam. His night vision dimmed by the flash of the rifle, Seifer did not see the glimmer of the second sniper's sight as the last remaining secret policeman targeted the knight. The round struck Seifer in the chest, tearing through him. He barely staggered as the bullet ripped out the back of his vest and snicked away through the vegetation. Bringing his own weapon to bear on the flicker of fire from the other sniper, he squeezed the trigger. The last remaining special agent did not see the incoming round strike sparks from the barrel of his own weapon, his brain did not even have time to register the muzzle flash of the knight's second shot. The final darkness descended upon the sniper with startling suddenness. The clips clicked as they detached from the sniper rifles. Ignoring the lances of fire cutting through his chest, Seifer straightened with savage speed, holding one empty weapon. Behind him, the third explosive whirred off the seconds remaining on its timer. Rinoa was a small patch of gray against the darkness of the lagoon. Her back was turned to him, she was seated on the sand staring out into the night. Slowly, Seifer lowered the weapon, and the image of the sorceress disappeared from the rifle's sight. He allowed one hand to drift to the hole the sniper's shot had torn in his clothing. The skin beneath was already firm and tight with scar tissue. A tiny ring of crusted blood crackled beneath the knight's fingers. He raised the sight of the empty rifle again. Nothing remained of the sorceress Rinoa but a fading quiver of rippling air. Water lapped around the knights boots, tugging grains of sand from under their hard rubber tread. Seifer's face gave no indication he even heard the thunderous roar of the three explosions that suddenly shook the midnight jungle behind him as they consumed the bodies and equipment of the special agents sent to assassinate the mother of his sorceress. The light from the flames leaping high against the dimming stars sparked briefly off the handful of enchanted shells as they tumbled end over end through the air. The ripples of the bullets striking the water's surface were lost amongst the oily waves on the black water. Long before anyone would notice them in the morning's light, the high tide had washed away the footsteps of the lost knight.   
...  
Her frightening dream had become reality. This time, she had traveled differently. Instead of stepping through the gateway to a new place, the sea had rolled away beneath her, the sun climbing above the oceanic horizon with unnatural speed as the sorceress raced over the whitecaps on the wings of her magic. All the lands rolled past beneath her searching gaze. She had traveled across Centra, Galbadia, Eshtar and Balamb. Racing over mountains, deserts, and forests she had searched for him, but everywhere, everywhere only memories, only ghosts of the past remained. With every mile that fell away beneath her feet her panic, her fright had grown. She could not find him, and the dread of an insidious nightmare turned real seized her with its icy claws. Tears streamed down her face to vanish in a magical slipstream and her stomach turned with ever-increasing dread as her seeking became more and more frantic. The panic ate away her control, and her enchanted flight became erratic. The world weaved drunkenly beneath her feet, dissolving into a chaos of sea, sky, and ground, but still her sorcery poured forth in a hopeless search. She could stand it no longer. The ground tilted up to meet her, and Rinoa stumbled. Falling to her knees, she covered her face with gray-clad arms. She bent forward, pressing against the ground of she knew not where, choked with so much hopelessness she could not even sob. It was not sight that restored her. She could not bear it, she could not stop pressing her face to her arms, and her arms to the ground. If she squeezed into a tight enough ball, maybe she could keep out all the fears and the heartache they brought. It was not sound or touch that restored her either. How could she stand to be aware of the sunlight on her back, or the soft breeze whispering against her ears, if it meant she would have to remember? The soft perfume of the flowers was what awakened the painful hope one more time. For the briefest instant, her heart soared, for yes, the scent of the fields of flowers, at last, reminded her of the promise. She dared to open one eye, and yes! It was their field where she had at last fallen! There! The graceful arches, soft blues and yellows, of Balamb Garden greeted her. Shivering, Rinoa stood. Swiftly, her hands flew to her heart—as if to keep it in place—as One!...two!...three!... Only three!? Now her heart fell, and the light seemed to grow dim. Only three figures walked toward her. Behind them, the bright sunny day chilled, the softness of the anchored garden hardened and Rinoa wanted, with all her soul, nothing more than to flee, but she stood rooted in place. Zell's hand was wrapped in bandages, Irvine's step was tired and wasted, and Selphie's eyes looked so terribly old. Rinoa's chest collapsed as breath left her. She would not dare to draw another as the three SeeDs neared. There was no joy in their expressions, no happy shouts of recognition or surprise. Something terrible took precedence over all that. There was no liveliness and no comfort in Selphie's embrace. Irvine and Zell stopped short, with their eyes downcast. Rinoa simply stared woodenly straight ahead as the yellow-clad girl wrapped her arms around the sorceress. "Oh, Rinoa, I'm so sorry... so sorry..." The words seemed to take a little of Rinoa's spirit with them as they departed her lips. "Tell me..." ...is it about... him? She did not want to hear, but she knew she would have no choice. Selphie drew back, still clinging to the sorceress's shoulders. "Rinoa..." Her eyes were red, cheeks blotchy. The girl's lips trembled. "...Quistis is dead."   
...  
The maelstrom had changed yet again. Or perhaps not. The snarling roaring mist through which he fell teased his senses. It was strangely familiar, yet totally different from anything he had ever seen... No! No! The time compression! That's what this is! The realization struck Squall nearly as hard as the fist that fell from behind. The monster swept out of the mists of time, riding easily on its massive leathery wings, dealing the knight a powerful blow. The force of the attack sent the knight's battered gunblade spinning off into the ether. Squall tumbled, but he no longer was out of control. Spinning in the direction in which the beast had disappeared, he reached out. Though no Guardian Force resided in his mind, the knight was still able to wrench the spell from the hidden monster. Without hesitation, he flung it back at the beast. Somehow, the chaos of the time compression became even more erratic as Meteor was unleashed. Swirling stars vied with the jade mists as giant hunks of rock spun crazily through the confusion. Dahyte snarled as she winged between two exploding meteors. Sweeping in on the knight, she twisted around his fist as he attempted to land a punch to her head. Wings providing her with leverage in the ethereal mists of time, she slipped behind the knight, grabbing his arms and wrenching them to his sides. "Don't give me any more reason to kill you!" She hissed into his ear. Her joints creaked as he strained against her grasp. "Let me go to her!" "You wish to go to her?" Dahyte growled as, dragging the knight, she dove through the confusion of the time compression. Squall saw the pit of blackness yawning in the swirling mists before the monster flung him away. With no way to control his fall, he plummeted toward the hole in the mists. Suddenly, the monster flashed before him again. A spiked fist descended upon him. "Then go!" The monster screamed. Squall felt the beast's claws tear into his skin just as the darkness overtook him.   
...  
The memorials were still taking shape when the funerals were held. So many had died over the past few months that the craftsmen brought in from Fisherman's Horizon would need months to work the black marble stone into the proper shape for markers of the dead. And even had they been asked, the stoneworkers would have refused to hurry their craft. The instructors were to be interred first, then the SeeDs, then students, and finally, the headmaster and his wife. The names rolled solemnly past. Each funeral was attended by those that had known the SeeD. Their surviving friends, students, mentors, and partners would say whatever words they deemed fitting. Most could not finish, and throughout the proceedings, it was always Xu who would step in—as a tearful speaker was led gently away—to finish the bittersweet epitaphs. Though it was not required of them, nearly all the occupants of Balamb Garden remained for every final farewell, but when Instructor Quistis Trepe's name was announced, the small field of soft grass in which the ceremonies took place filled to overflowing. It had come as a terrible shock at the worst of times. The Balamb Garden SeeD had returned to that isolated Centra peninsula for a period of healing and remembrance. All but the most essential of operatives had been recalled for the retreat, and SeeD operations worldwide had, for all intents and purposes, ceased. However, the weary warriors had found one last heartbreak waiting for them near the old abandoned lighthouse. No one, not even the three orphans—Zell, Selphie, or Irvine—had known what to make of the scorched spacecraft, resting at an angle in its charred landing field. However, it was clear enough what the two small mounds in the earth, not far from the ancient escape pod, signified. Two crude stone markers had rested there, headstones for those who had not survived their return to the planet. The stones had been scored by gouged letters that looked like nothing so much as claw marks. One bore the name of a Galbadian soldier, the other, the name of Quistis Trepe. Selphie did her best, but she could only manage a few words before her vision clouded with tears and the lump in her throat made speech impossible. For a moment, Rinoa tried to carry on for her, but the sorceress was equally overcome with emotion. Again, Xu completed the speech for her. But even the woman who had been the only force strong enough to hold SeeD together through the series of disasters that had struck it over the past few months had been forced to pause, voice shaking, to wipe her eyes more than once before she finished speaking. The four friends, now five, had taken their seats at the front row, before the closed casket. Irvine staring straight ahead and blinking now and again, holding Selphie's hand tightly in his own. Both yellow-clad SeeD and gray-clad sorceress cried quietly as they leaned together. Zell sat, teeth locked, but lip still quivering, even as the Ergheiz creaked around his balled fists as he struggled for self-control. Beside the blond SeeD, Iris placed a hand on his forearm from her wheeled chair and watched the procession of well-wishers. A few of the students who had idolized their instructor—the Trepies—did their best to read a letter to the departed SeeD to which all had contributed, as all those who had felt close to Quistis—in one way or another—passed by the casket and single photograph. From behind the glass frame, the image of the legendary SeeD smiled. Proudly displayed on her collar, was the pin of a SeeD instructor, first class. That same pin glittered in the soft sunlight, nestled amid the flowers and mementos left by the procession of SeeDs and students. Again, it was Xu who spoke the final words of farewell aloud, but all those who had known Quistis said them in their own hearts. The morning passed, and the sun climbed higher into the deepening blue sky. Fluffy white cumulus clouds sprang up, drifting on the cool early spring breeze. Dappled sunbeams washed over the solemn proceedings, occasionally causing a friend to look up, close their eyes, and imagine the smile and laughter of the departed, just for an instant. The afternoon came and went, and then as the sun was setting, Cid and Edea were honored. Both empty caskets were laid side-by-side. Again, every SeeD and student of Balamb Garden was in attendance. All came to pay their respects to the man who had lead them for as long as SeeD had existed. The sorceress was a different matter. In the weeks proceeding the day of remembrance, quiet conversations had echoed in the hallways of Balamb Garden. "The Sorceress is going to be buried with the Headmaster?" "She did give her life defending the Garden." "But what about Galbadia?" "She's his wife, for Hyne's sake!" "I'm not going! If it wasn't for that witch, maybe Jason wouldn't be..." Two days before the funerals, the white SeeD had arrived and the voices of dissent fell silent. As they had through the ceremonies for each and every one of the black SeeD, the small cadre of white SeeDs stood at silent attention as Xu spoke of both Cid and Edea Kramer. This time, it was the steady senior mercinary that found she could not finish the words she had wanted to say. Breaking from the silent stillness they had maintained for hours, two white SeeDs made their way to the small podium. One helped Xu to her seat, while the other spoke. "We are all part of the Kramers' great dream. Cid and Edea both envisioned a better world than the one from which they have departed. They dreamed of a world free from war, free from oppression, free from suffering and evil. I remember the years before, when Edea would walk among the ships of her SeeD, telling us stories of the world to come. She would paint such wonderful visions for us, of a time beyond fear and pain." "But Cid and Edea knew what terrible price would have to be paid for such a world. They knew that the path of hardship and self-sacrifice was the only way to their vision of the future. I have seen, as you must have seen, the way this knowledge haunted them. In a way, it is good that they are not with us here today, for to see so many of the ones they thought of as their children laid to rest would have broken their hearts." "Still, more sacrifice is demanded. Evil still clings to our world and we, SeeD, hold the key to driving it away forever. Edea, Cid, and all the SeeDs honored here today have made the ultimate sacrifice for others and asked nothing in return. There is no more fitting memorial we could give them than for all of us to be ready to do the same. So, in honor of the memory of Headmaster Cid and Matron Edea, we, the white SeeD, offer our service, our vessels, and our lives to any who will ease the suffering of the oppressed, protect the lives of the weak, and hold in check the power of the ruthless. This is our gift to Edea, to Cid, and to all SeeD." The last sliver of the orange evening sun disappeared into the glittering ocean as the white SeeD walked to stand beside Xu. All eyes were on the white and black warriors as they straightened. A quiet rustling filled air, heavy with the coming of night, as the hundreds gathered there also stiffened to attention, turned to face the Matron and Headmaster's memorial, and then saluted. Only two more funerals remained. There remained two warriors, once SeeDs, who had renounced their status as SeeD and SeeD candidate, and yet still lost their lives in the recent battles. Tempers had flared and emotions had run high after Xu's announcement that all SeeDs and SeeD candidates who had died would be buried with appropriate honors. More than one distraught individual had requested a personal conference with the new Headmistress about Seifer's right to burial rites. None had come away any more satisfied than they started, for Xu would not be moved in her insistence. She had given ground only on the timing of the event, by allowing the memorials for those who had left SeeD to be held last. Perhaps even more galling to most, however, was the fact that this meant Squall Leonhart's funeral would also be held last. After all, Squall was the unquestionable hero of Balamb Garden. Resignation or not, nearly every occupant of Balamb Garden still thought of the legendary warrior as a SeeD first and foremost. As much as they revered one gunblade specialist, they despised the other. No matter what he had done before his final SeeD examination, Seifer was universally regarded as nothing but a despicable traitor. The twilight was deepening into night. Only one SeeD, Xu, stood where usually a guard of four would be. Despite everything she had tried, every SeeD she had approached had stated bluntly that they would rather resign than stand as an honor guard at a traitor's funeral. Only five other figures stood in attendance as Raijin stepped up to speak. Scratching his head nervously, the large warrior spoke hesitantly. "This ain't right... Seifer, he was always... He was always a dreamer, ya know?" He shook his head. "I dunno. I got nothin' else to say." For an instant he looked up, and his voice was clear. "I was his friend. That's what counts." As Raijin stepped down, Fujin walked slowly up to the empty casket. She did not turn as she laid a single hand gently on it and said something much to quiet for anyone to hear. Shaking her head slightly, she walked away, keeping her face hidden in darkness. Zell had been leaning slightly backward with his arms crossed. Now, his frown softening, he prepared to leave and noticed Rinoa still looking at the coffin. The last glimmers of light from the sunset revealed her tears. The SeeD placed a hand on her shoulder as he turned. His words were meant to comfort. "I don't think he's really dead." He tried to keep the angry growl from his voice. Rinoa's whisper was tormented. "I know." In the early hours of the night, the breeze died. The warm evening was still, no songs of night creatures broke the silence, only the quiet rustle of footsteps over the grass, or the hum of muffled low conversations. No lights were lit on B-Garden or the attending SeeD vessels, and their dark shapes eventually faded into the deepening night. Amongst the attending host of SeeDs a single candle was lit, then another. Soon, the tiny lights were spread like the stars above. They danced and bobbed like fireflies as their holders moved about. Slowly, the lights began to shift, running together into channels of bobbing sparks as they flowed toward a single point Irvine stood staring straight ahead. He felt the warmth of Selphie's arm wrapped around his waist even as his own hand rested on the diminutive SeeD's shoulders. He sensed, more than saw, the blond SeeD take his place beside the sharpshooter. "Lot of funerals today, Zell." He let out a long breath. "Lot of funerals..." Zell nodded once—a short jerk of the head—and kept his arms folded tightly across his chest. Behind the three SeeDs, the hundreds of warriors gathered. Very few of them knew the man they had come to honor, but all of them knew of him. Faces illuminated by the flames of the candles they had brought, they came with different thoughts and for differing reasons. They were laying another legend to rest, but this one was different. So many people had known Quistis, so many people had noticed the promising young SeeD as she made her way up the ranks, that she had seemed real to them, more a part of them somehow. Were it not for the tales told everywhere about Squall Leonhart, most of the Balamb Garden SeeD would never have even known of his existence. Hardly a one of them had ever seen him fight, but they had all heard the stories: Squall Leonhart moves faster than the eye can follow. A single blow from the Lionheart once killed a Ruby Dragon. A hundred Galbadian soldiers once ran rather than face Squall Leonhart. The man who was being remembered had bested monsters that were legends in and of themselves; Odin, Bahamut, Ultima Weapon, and others even more mythical in stature. Some came because of the legends; they wanted to know if it could all be true. But the faded eyes of the old graduation photograph gave them no clue as to what the man was capable of. Some came because they wondered if they could be the next Squall Leonhart; but the glimpse of the lion's head symbol gave them no insight into the workings of the warrior. It was simply because he had been one of them—unknown though he might have been to most—that they came. He had fought in the same battles as they, he had seen the same destruction, and crossed blades with the same foes; and all came to acknowledge this. No one spoke. Not even Xu. Neither Irvine, nor Selphie, nor Zell moved forward to say a single word. It was then that it struck the three friends; how little they had known about the quiet dark haired warrior. So everyone stood in silence. And the candles burned a little lower. Finally, with hesitation—as if afraid to break the spell of quiet—a student near the front row raised his arm. The gesture of respect swept across the ranks of SeeDs on rustling feathers. Candles dipped out of sight, and hundreds of faces were cast into shadow for a moment as all saluted. Darkness and silence reigned over the assembly. Slowly, a single arm fell, one candle was raised. A spattering of other lights appeared as SeeDs held the gesture for as long as they desired. Throughout the night the SeeDs' candles burned. Clusters of lights and calm conversation marked the dozens of memorial sites. Individual candles drifted freely between small islands of light as those who had more than one soul to remember moved between groups. The night air hummed with whispers, tears, and occasional subdued melancholy laughter. It was after a very long time, that three friends standing before the casket marked with the symbol of Griever lowered their hands. Slowly, Selphie turned. With face dry but eyes red, she looked around now that the crowd had dispersed. It was with a worried expression that she spoke. "Where's Rinoa?"   
... Dew does not sparkle in the very very pale first light of morning. It gives no indication that it even sees the beginnings of the new day. Coating the firm petals, closed tight against the waning night, the drops await the first rays of the sun, anticipating the sparkling rainbows their prisms of water will catch and then scatter. Some dewdrops do not sparkle in the morning light. Some dewdrops soak the pants of golden-haired SeeDs and cling to their shoes—seeping into their socks. With a tired squelch, Zell at last took a seat on the fallen pillar. For a very long time, the SeeD sat motionless and silent. The first grays of dawn now suffused the eastern sky, and a hint of lighter colors could be seen. "You're right." Nothing stirred at his words in the early morning twilight. "I don't believe he's gone either." Zell folded his arms, much as he had when Irvine and Selphie had come to talk to him after Squall's funeral. Selphie's eyes were worried. "I thought, maybe, when she came to Quistis's funeral—when she cried at Edea's... I thought maybe Rinoa was going to be okay." Irvine picked up the thought. "But then, when she didn't come to Squall's..." He shook his head. "She's not accepting it. She won't believe he's gone." Zell had turned away from them. "I'm not so sure I believe it either." "Come on, Zell. It's been months." Irvine placed his hands on his hips. "You know as well as I do, that if there was any possible way for Squall to come back to her, he would have." The sharpshooter shook his head. "I'm not saying he's dead—and I hope to god he's not—but it's obvious that, wherever he went, he can't come back." Selphie wiped at the corner of her eye. "We all hoped that he could come back, but it was more like a dream." She paused for a moment. Zell closed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" "I dunno. I, I guess that, finding out that Quistis was dead..." Selphie took a breath. "It's over. I think the dream, that we could all get back together in one big happy group, is over." "What does that have to do with this? Why should we give up on Squall just because Quistis..." Zell stopped. He just couldn't say it. Irvine shook his head. "Zell, Cid's gone, Edea's gone, Quistis is gone... and Squall's gone too. We've spent too long searching and wishing it wasn't true." He shifted. "It's time we faced reality. We have to move on. There's nothing else we can do." Irvine waved a hand at the clusters of flickering candles. "That's what this was all about." "Rinoa doesn't want to accept that." Selphie said in agreement. "We don't blame her for anything. If there was any other way... but there's not." She sighed. "We're her friends, and we have a responsibility to help her through this." Though he knew they didn't deserve it, Zell could not help the anger he felt. Help her through what!? You two should know that as much as anyone! What they had... it isn't just something you walk away from. Zell shook his head. "She won't listen to you and, frankly, I don't want to listen to you either." He began to walk away. "Zell, wait." Selphie's hand was on his arm. "We need your help. Rinoa needs your help." Zell pulled away from her and turned to face the two SeeDs. "No!" He waved an arm angrily. "You guys do what you want, but I'm not giving up on Squall." Without another word, he stalked off into the night. "The Garden is leaving in the morning, Rinoa." Zell spoke quietly. The shadow of the girl was silent, just as she had been when Irvine and Selphie had come to plead with her. The bond SeeD was not too discouraged by Rinoa's silence. "You're going to wait for him here?" Still, not a sound marred the early-morning stillness. Zell leaned back on the fallen pillar where he was seated. His eyes traced the thin line of the horizon as a few more stars disappeared overhead. Zell let out a very long breath before speaking again. "I'm leaving SeeD, Rinoa. Iris and I both." He waited, but there was no response. "With things the way they are, there won't be any place for her." It was, of course, true. She had spoken to him about it only a few days after leaving the infirmary. SeeD was hurting. The Garden was already supporting dozens injured in the recent conflicts. There were many others just like Iris, and only so many desk and teaching positions necessary. "Oh, they'd make up a spot for me, no doubt." Her eyes had met his, kneeling beside her wheelchair. "SeeD always takes care of its own, but they wouldn't need me." Her eyes had sparkled with emotion. "I won't be useless, Zell! I just... I couldn't live with that." Iris blinked and her eyes fell. "So, I'm leaving the Garden." Zell said nothing. She paused, and drew in a long shuddering breath. "I... I just thought you should know." Finally, Zell spoke. "I'm coming with you." Eyes still downcast, she shook her head. "No, Zell. You don't have to say that. It's okay. I mean, really, we hardly know each other, and you're a SeeD hero, a-and they're going to need you, and I, I understand, you..." She had to keep the tears from falling. She had to hold her breath. I can't do this to him. I can't cry in front of him! That's not fair. "Please," she could barely whisper, "just go, Zell. Just go." He placed his hand over hers. "Iris..." She tried to push it away. "Zell, no..." the words squeaked with the coming tears. Go! Go, because I can't stand this any longer! Then she was looking up into his soft blue eyes. She felt his hand brushing her cheek. "Iris, I love you." And there were tears in his eyes too. "I go where you go." Zell opened his eyes and the memory fled. "I just thought you'd want to know." Sighing, he pushed to his feet. The sky had blushed in anticipation of sunrise. "Uh, I'm not real good at this, so I guess I'll just say it." Zell scratched his head. "Goodbye, Rinoa. I... I know he'll come back." As the blond SeeD turned away, Rinoa's lips traced out three words in the darkness. So do I. At last, the sorceress spoke. "Zell..." The SeeD turned at Rinoa's voice. "Huh?" "Where will you go?" Zell shuffled his feet. "Uh, Balamb I guess. It's where our homes are." "Home." Where is home, for me? A little nervous, Zell looked at his feet. "Yeah." Before the blond warrior left, Rinoa said one last thing. Zell only nodded, once, slowly, before walking away.   
... With the coming of the dawn, SeeD departed. The white sails of the vessels remained visible long after the sun climbed clear of the horizon. The day would be perfect—just like the one before, and the one following. The first hints of a spring breeze stirred the petals in the field of flowers. A few cotton ball clouds drifted lazily over the meadows, casting their shadows down upon the memorials left behind by the mercenaries. It would be several days before the craftsmen would resume their work; completing the graves and markers of fallen warriors. The sorceress would still remain. Weeks later, the finishing touches would be applied as the first butterflies of spring climbed from their cocoons to dance among the burgeoning blossoms of early flowers. The sorceress would still remain. The early months of summer would arrive, ending the blustery showers. Strong warm sunlight brought forth the reds and golds from the blues and pinks of spring. The first SeeD transport appeared, bringing with it the students who stood long silent watches, honoring all SeeDs, past and future, who gave their lives to save the world. The sorceress would still remain.  
  
Months would roll by. The flower fields of Centra marking their passage with an ever-changing panoply of riotous color. Seasons would come and go, just as they had for the thousand or so years since the first lunar cry and the fall of Centra. Across the calm meadows life would sprout, bloom, grow  
old, and die, only to renew itself again in an endless cycle.  
Forever. The sorceress would still remain, awaiting the return of her lost love and  
the fulfillment of their promise.  
  
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	14. Epilogue

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Epilogue  
Part One  
"No it isn't!" "What's that?" "No it isn't the end, Unkee Zell!" Dark blue, nearly violet, eyes stared piercingly at him from above a pouting mouth. "The little lion still has to find his way home. The story can't end until that happens." The little girl said, crossing her arms authoritatively. "Yeah, daddy." The twins chorused together. "There's got to be more." Leo said. "No story ever ends like that." Yina added. Slowly closing the storybook laid across his lap, Zell relented a little. "Well, maybe there is a little more, but it will have to wait until tomorrow." His statement was met by emphatic protests. "No, daddy! Please read us the rest." "Yeah Unkee, we can't sleep with all the sus... suspentance!" "I might have nightmares about lost lions, daddy." His thumb holding the place in the children's book, Zell waffled. "Well, I don't know, it's pretty late..." Seeing their chance, the children renewed their pleas. Zell's hand cracked the book just the slightest bit open again. Between the children, a silent organization of beseechment took place. 'One, two, three, now:' "Pleeease!" They cried in harmony. With no other choice, the book fell open again. "Oh, alright." Zell smiled as he looked for the place where he had left off. "Yaaay!" Iris sighed and smiled silently to herself as she leaned against the doorway to the room. Everyone in the room was asleep; the children in their beds, and Zell with his face planted firmly between the pages of the storybook. Silently, she walked across the room. Zell woke at her touch with only the slightest of starts. "Uh? Oh, what time is it?" He whispered. "Later than anyone in their right minds would let children stay up." Iris smiled down at him. "You're hopeless, Zell Dincht." Zell laid his head against Iris's belly as she ran her fingers through his hair—grown no less unruly with age. "Yes I am." "Let's go." She tugged gently on his ears. "Unless you were planning on finishing The Children's Big Book of Animal Stories by yourself tonight." The chair creaked slightly as Zell stood. Laying the storybook on top of the nightstand, he turned to follow Iris out of the children's room. "Unkee Zell?" Zell turned at the child's voice. One dark blue eye peeked at him from under a veil of hair. "When are mommy and daddy coming back?" With gentle hands grown much more sure with years of practice, Zell stroked the child's raven-black hair back into place. "Soon." He smiled softly. "Now go to sleep."   
...  
Kuno Inman's boot heels squeaked as he snapped a smart about-face after reaching the end of the polished walkway. Though outwardly, his expression was a mask of severe solemnity, inside he was sighing. Only five hundred more to go. As he paced his appointed rounds, he forced down a shiver. The cold, hard autumn rain had been coming down in sheets all afternoon and showed no sign of slacking. Despite the well-oiled all-weather uniform he wore, a few frigid droplets managed to sneak past his raised collar and dribbled down his back on every turn. The rain created a dull gray curtain around the SeeD memorial, masking the surrounding terrain from sight. The inland hills, the beach, the old ruins, the dock and outpost, even the knight's graves were all wrapped in the storm's sodden embrace. Droplets drummed on the metal skin of the escape rocket—pointing toward the hidden sky, mounted on a pedestal of granite blocks—and streamed between the letters carved into the single monolith that stood before the ancient spacecraft.   
In memory of all seeds  
From the lands  
To the seas  
To the very stars above  
Give they their lives  
So that we may live in peace  
When the rain started, cold water had pooled in the indentations of the large stone seal of Balamb Garden, which rested in the center of a field of black marble tablets. Now, the water overflowed and poured down the tile walkways between the markers. Each memorial bore the crest of a garden, an insignia of rank, and the name of the soul it honored.   
Dahyte Najai  
Seed A  
Protector of this world  
  
Nida valenti  
Seed 20  
Protector of this world  
  
There were others, of course. Rank upon rank of dark tablets stood sentinel in the driving rain. Tucked away amongst them, the difference almost unnoticeable, lay the memorials of hero's heroes.  
  
Edea Kramer  
Matron  
Loving wife  
Light in a dark world  
  
  
Cid Kramer  
Headmaster  
Loving Husband  
Guardian of the light  
  
  
One marker, not really so different from any of the others, stood alone amongst them, but not unnoticed, for everyone who visited this place would always look to it as the final resting place of a legend as great in stature as any in all of time.   
Quistis Trepe  
Seed Instructor First Class  
Savior of us all  
  
Seed Candidate Inman continued to stare straight ahead as he marched past memorial field. The squelching of the stones beneath his boots was barely audible above the steady patter of rain on his hood and shoulders. His group of students was not the first to stand watch over the SeeD burial ground and it certainly wouldn't be the last. However, he could not look forward to the same celebrity status as the first students ever to man the honorary guard post—they had practically hero's welcome upon their return. Their trip, their proximity to the graves of legends—and to the mysterious silent sorceress—had won the awed respect of their peers for the two-week period until the second group returned. When they too spoke of the unrelenting boredom of empty watches, homework and lecture via satellite email, and no free time—nor any diversions to occupy their free time had they had any—the mythos surrounding the new duty required of all SeeD candidates had evaporated.  
Still, Kuno Inman realized that he did have a duty to perform—no matter how dull or uncomfortable it might be—and he did his best to keep his paces steady and his about-faces snappy. Unable, or at least unwilling, to look down to check on the time, he was glad for the one secret passed down only between those returning from sentinel duty and those departing; how many times the path must be walked before you were relieved by the next watch.   
The rain ended with two hundred and thirty five laps remaining. Casting a cautious eye toward the sky, Kuno judged the clouds. The fall rains were persistent, and he had once been tricked into removing his rain gear before a storm was completely over. Halfway to the far end of his patrol, he had been forced to march calmly through the downpour as his uniform was soaked through. Not for a moment had he even considered breaking stride to dash to the small shed where the weather gear was stowed.  
After five more minutes, the purple-bottomed clouds began to show patches of lighter gray. Satisfied that the storm truly was over, the student removed his inclement weather gear—as was required by protocol. He paused at the edge of his route. Already, the stone strip was becoming polished by the constant passage of the booted guardsmen and women. He tapped one foot lightly three times to put himself back into step, then began his solemn patrol again. Wheeling sharply, he was greeted by a view of the edge of the peninsula. Revealed by the passing of the storm, the Knight's Memorial caught his attention—even as he was careful to keep his eyes forward and expression severe.  
On a small knoll, separate from the rest of the SeeD memorial, was the final resting place of Squall Leonhart. Like many others of his class, Kuno was not quite sure what to think. There was no question that Squall Leonhart was a hero of legendary proportions, but there was something different about him and the tales that surrounded him. Though the black marble marker was nearly the same as those of the SeeDs, subtle differences existed. Rather than the crest of a garden, the knight's marker was adorned with the head of a lion. The few words carved upon it differed as well.   
Squall Leonhart  
Knight  
Savior of us all  
  
In the end, Kuno had to admit, perhaps the lonely memorial was appropriate. From what he had come to understand, Squall had always differed from those around him. Fitting his grave amongst the ranks of SeeD would not have seemed right.  
Turning at the end of his route nearest the ocean, SeeD Candidate Inman couldn't help but let the tiniest bit of angry severity creep into his expression. Opposite the Knight's Memorial lay the Traitor's Grave—as it had come to be called by almost every member of SeeD. Nothing was engraved upon the marker besides a name and the symbol of a pointed cross.   
Seifer Almasy There was nothing ambiguous about Seifer and what he had done. It was common knowledge around the Garden that neither the Knight's nor the Traitor's Grave contained a body. Many still talked about Squall Leonhart as if he could still be alive somewhere. No one spoke of Seifer Almasy that way. Turning again, Kuno Inman watched one last curtain of rain sweep across the open fields to the west. The shower passed out to sea, and as it lifted a lone figure was revealed. The sorceress had not moved since she spoke with another, now retired, legend of SeeD; Zell Dincht. She seemed to be almost frozen in time. She neither slept nor ate, and the flowers around her were always in constant bloom. Now, in the middle of fall, the rest of the field was a mix of greens and browns—the blossoms of summer having finally faded and fallen away—and the sorceress Rinoa stood amongst a little spring-like island of color in the midst of a field still glistening with the recent rainfall. No matter what weather came, it never touched the sorceress or her garden of wildflowers. Kuno had no doubt that, when he was gone, her small field of flowers would continue to bloom straight through the frosts and snows of winter. Despite his tired feet, Kuno felt a smile tugging at his lips as he completed another circuit. Something in the air after the rain had transformed the cold fall day into what felt like spring again. He took a deep breath as his heels clicked rhythmically on the stones. Then a cool wind tugged at his uniform. As he turned his back to the field of the sorceress, he imagined he saw motion. For a moment, he almost lost step, but quickly recovered, keeping up the steady tapping footfalls of his watch. It couldn't have been... The wind picked up, sending something skittering across the dark stones. What? Are those flower petals? Kuno struggled to maintain steady step and expression as a few pink petals whirled around him. But where did they come from? With the coming of the wind, the day darkened again. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to turn around. Only thirty more paces to the far end, then he would have the field of flowers in view again. Abruptly, the sound of footfalls ceased as SeeD Candidate Kuno Inman came to a dead halt. Protocol was forgotten in an instant of shock as the student whirled about. It was not the rumble of thunder that broke his step, but the unmistakable whistling of a blade cutting through air. The battered and scarred revolver gunblade fell from the sky. Spinning end over end, it glittered with the reflection of dark clouds for an instant before striking rock with a metallic clang. The student's mouth dropped open as he turned and stared. A few dozen feet away, atop the small knoll that marked the Knight's Memorial, a sliver gunblade had fallen from the sky and lodged itself in the black marble tablet. "T-that's impossible..." Kuno almost tripped on his own feet. It's blooming...! The fields, from the crumbling walls of the ancient orphanage to the lighthouse, far out on its promontory, to the very edge of the SeeD memorials, burgeoned with the blues and pinks of spring flowers. Cracks of gray in the clouds lightened to white as the sky began to clear. With amazing speed, white gave way to tiny hints of blue, and now sunbeams, rather than rain, showered down to earth amid through the damp air. Mists evaporating from the rainfall caught and held the sunlight, making the cascades of gold seem all the more corporeal as they swept across sea and sand, flower and grave, grass and stone. After so many motionless months, the Sorceress Rinoa looked up and smiled, raising her arms in a joyous welcome to the beam of sunlight. The shafting light swept over the sorceress, and suddenly everything was lost in a sea of brilliance. Kuno Inman fell to one knee, covering and closing his eyes against the luminescence. When the student opened them again, the scene was the same. The gunblade remained locked in the stone marker, the field of flowers was still a riot of color, It's real! It's really happening! and the sorceress...  
  
Rinoa was gone.  
  
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Epilogue  
Part Two  
...  
  
The proprietor of the Sea Breeze Inn could have sworn there was something familiar about the young couple standing before the registration desk. "I have a room available on the East side. It has a lovely view of the ocean. I'm sure you'll adore it. Spring sunrises in Balamb are the most invigorating in the world!" He had to struggle to keep a pensive frown from surfacing as one of the couple spoke. I could swear I've seen that face before... "I know." The young man replied. "Ah, so you've been to Balamb before." Now, where have I seen you? The innkeeper glanced down at his registration book. "And how long will you be staying with us?" He looked up, and suddenly the strange sense of recognition was swept away. No, what was I thinking? I've never seen these people before. The dark-haired woman smiled at him. "Not long."  
  
...  
  
Packing up the last of his equipment, Zell turned at the sound of a quiet cough behind him. "Little Tomark, what are you still doing here?" Dropping the duffel, Zell gave the tiny student one of his better—he thought—stern looks. "I dismissed class half an hour ago." Inwardly, though, the former SeeD was smiling. Though barely ten years old, the child was already exhibiting surprising skill and balance. He was undoubtedly one of Zell's best students, though one of the very youngest members of the junior classes the martial artist taught. Too bad all that balance and control will disappear when he hits puberty, poor kid. Zell grinned to himself.  
Bowing slightly, Tomark, replied solemnly. "Mister Dincht, do you think I have what it takes to be a SeeD?"  
Zell couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Tomark, you are only ten years old. SeeDs are great warriors much older and stronger than children your age." The crestfallen expression of the child caused the former SeeD to soften his tone a bit. "Well... even the youngest SeeD I knew... was half again as old as you before graduating..." He relented a little. "Though, I suppose, with practice, you could become as good as a SeeD."  
The child shook his head. "That is not what I meant, Mister Dincht. I mean, if I applied now, do you think I could become a SeeD warrior?"  
Zell's eyebrows shot up. He had not realized the nature of his student's question. "Joining SeeD is a big decision, Tomark."  
"And a noble one, Sir." The student's gaze rose to challenge Zell's.  
Zell stared at the Tomark for an instant, until the student looked away. "Yes. And a noble one." He folded his arms. "It also involves great personal sacrifice." He walked forward to stand directly in front of the student. "Tomark."  
The child looked up. "The question is not whether I think you have what it takes to join SeeD. The question is; do you?" Zell's voice held a seriousness he reserved only for use when discussing the most deadly of maneuvers with his most advanced students.  
"Yes, Sir." It was both an acknowledgment and a confirmation. There was the tiniest shifting of weight. Zell recognized it as a signature of the student's fighting style—a dead giveaway before a strike that he had not managed to train out of the young fighter just yet. However, instead of attacking, Tomark whirled and dashed away. He stopped at the door of athletic training center. "You were the greatest SeeD of all time, Sir, and I'm going to be as SeeD just like you!" With the shout still hanging in the air, the door slammed and the student was gone.  
  
Zell was still shaking his head and smiling to himself when he stepped through the entryway of the modest Balamb apartment. As was his nature, Zell started shouting before anyone was even in view. "Iris, you know that one student I've been telling you about?" Tossing his duffel into the entryway closet, Zell didn't wait for a response before continuing. "You'll never believe what that crazy kid said to me today..." Uh-oh... As Zell stepped out of the entryway into the apartment's carpeted living area, he caught sight of the expression on Iris's face. As the martial-artist's brain caught up to his mouth, for a moment he worried that he might have already blurted out the child's statement about him being a legendary SeeD. The topic, despite his constant reassurances, still worried Iris. But how she could ever think I regret that decision... well, it's only been a few months. I'll convince her that I have no regrets, even if it takes the rest of my life. However, he quickly realized that he had not yet mentioned the student's words. "Whoops." He paused for a moment. "Did something not blow up the way it was supposed to today?" Only a few weeks after returning to Balamb, Iris had found—in reality, she had created it with sheer determination—a position in a leading demolitions company. Hair that had once been twisted into two tight pigtails, shook in denial. "No, everything at work was fine." Zell noticed that her angry scowl was directed at a small white card grasped tightly between two fingers. "But when I got home, I found this in the mailbox." She thrust the card at Zell, lips quivering with indignation. "I don't know what kind of sick joke... so help me... I've got half a mind to go down to this damn place and give them a free renovation, AKA Demolitions Inc. style." Zell glanced at the card.  
  
You have a complimentary appointment  
with Angelo Chiropractors  
tomorrow at 10:30 AM  
1121 Sea Foam Ln.  
  
At the bottom of the handwritten note, was a tiny stylized drawing of a wing.  
  
"Zell! What are you doing!?" Iris squealed as the martial artist picked her up, as easily as a pillow—still careful not to put pressure on the few sore spots that still remained near her injury—and swung her around. The former SeeD grinned. "They're back."  
  
...  
  
More than a little nervous, Iris wheeled herself across the threshold of the examination room. Behind her, a cloaked figure held up a hand. "Wait here, Mr. Dincht." He spoke with a familiar voice.  
Deftly, she rolled over to the padded bench as a second figure—also wrapped from head to toe in robes—entered the room. "Mrs. Dincht?" The voice was feminine and also very familiar. "Oh, no, Sorry Iris, that's not until next week, isn't it?"  
Iris looked up. How did she...?  
"Let me help you onto the bench, Ms Deen." The small figure approached, offering a helping hand.  
Iris grunted slightly with effort as she reached up. Gripping the edge of the bench, she began pulling herself from the wheelchair. "No thank you, I can manage it, myself." The figure continued to reach forward. "No, please let me help you." The woman spoke kindly, even as she placed her hands around Iris's waist. The former SeeD felt a shiver race through her body, and suddenly, between the woman's hands, she felt a warming tingle. For an instant, Iris caught a glimpse of the woman's face under the hood of her robe. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised, but still she gasped. "S-sorceress? Sorceress Heartilly?" The sorceress released her, and stepped back, her face hidden. She nodded silently. So great was Iris's surprise, that—for an instant—she did not realize she was standing. Suddenly, she looked down at her feet. Shocked, she let go of the bench and took a few steps backwards. Throwing back her hood, Rinoa placed a hand on Iris's shoulder. "Would you like to sit down, Iris?" Slowly, a smile began to spread across her face as she realized what had happened to her. "Thank you, I think I'll stand."  
  
...  
  
The darkness could hold no secrets from the beast. There were no stars, there was no moon, on this night. Still, the monster's eyes missed nothing. Unlike the day, unlike the moonlit night, there were no shadows this night. To its eyes, the markers standing in orderly rows could hide nothing, for they threw no shade.  
The wind was still, the air cool and damp with the promise of a heavy dew. The sound of a single footfall could carry for miles. The monster made no such noise. It crouched beside the gravestone. A cold claw touched even colder marble. "Protector of This World?" The corners of Dahyte's lipless mouth pulled back in a grimace made from the bones of a smile.  
The transformed sniper had already visited the grave of her only friend. The new gravesite, A proper burial ground. not like the hole her bleeding hands had scratched from the hard clay months ago. It was then that her fingernails had torn away, claws emerging from beneath her rotting human skin.  
She had sat for hours on the scorched ground around the escape pod, scratching at the slabs of granite with those terrible cruel things that her hands had become. Her claws had been blunted, cracked, and scored by the rock marker she carved for her friend. She had been numb to the pain, just as she had been numb to the transformations taking place within her own body. Dahyte had wondered, then, when the shock would hit. When would her mind comprehend the beast that she was becoming?  
Never. She slept, she ate, she survived, and not a single tear had she shed over what she had become. When the rude markers were finished, Dahyte had taken the Sapphire Nightmare and sought out the man; sorceress Rachel's lackey.  
Only, he had not been just the sorceress's lackey, just as the sorceress Rachel had not been whom she claimed. No, that man had been the same one she now sought. The monster shook her head with silent disbelief. What twisted webs... Dahyte had dragged her decaying body to the Federated Republican Islands of Southern Pella to deliver the Sapphire Nightmare to the sorceress Rachel. I thought Quistis would have wanted it that way. In return, the man she met there provided her with gasses enough to sustain her changed lungs for years. When she realized that the plots and deceptions of the sorceress Rachel—in truth, the sorceress Sera—had run deeper than she or Quistis could have imagined, she stayed close to the body Norg was possessing, helping him, pretending to be loyal to the former proprietor of Balamb Garden. Dahyte shivered, and rubbed one hand along the ridged scales of her forearm. The night was not cold, but her memories... That terrible day the Finger of God had been loosed upon the world; the day the sorceress Sera had revealed her deception, Dahyte had seen the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place. After fleeing that thing from the moon, she had begun to realize how all these events tied together. But there was still much, much more to be learned; blank spaces between flashes of insight in the great mystery in which she had become entangled. Now, she wished to understand it all. She would find the Norg of the present—the real man or Shumi, whichever, wherever he was—not one of the bodies possessed by a future Norg. She would offer him her services, her expertise, just as she had before. She would follow him for as long as would be needed, to ensure that his plans would fail. She would not let him harm either Rinoa Heartilly, nor—despite how it galled her—Squall Leonheart. Because that is what I promised Quistis. That is what I promised to a friend.  
  
"WHO GOES THERE!?" The shout startled Dahyte. Reflexively, her wings snapped open with the sound of rippling sheets of canvas. Silently chiding herself for losing track of the sentry, she dashed away from the voice. The view through the SeeD student's goggles bounced crazily as she ran after the fleeing figure. "HALT!" She stopped, unlimbering her bow. Another five steps, and Dahyte's wings bit into the air. The ground fell away beneath her as she sailed into the starless night. The student nocked an arrow as she called into the radio strapped to her shoulder. "Kraft! I've spotted an intruder! Get out here! And bring lights!" The bow creaked as she drew the arrow back, but the winged figure had disappeared into the night.  
  
Every student in the group patrolled the memorial until dawn. They dragged out generators and banks of lights to illuminate the grounds until the sun rose. A scouting party swept the surrounding hills for days without finding a trace of the strange monster. The only proof that it had ever been there lay in a grainy recording on the student's night-vision camera. Needless to say, the entire episode became an instant legend; a frightening story told, and retold to every group of cadets departing to stand guard over the rows and rows of graves.  
  
...  
  
President Delphi Matchgar's desk was bare. He had long since thrown away the gilded clock as it kept ticking, ticking, ticking off the seconds. The papers, the reams of reports of everything, from war information, to lists of names to be included in the next purge; all gone. The Offices of the President of Galbadia were no longer issuing orders, nor receiving information.  
After two stunning defeats in the past week—on in Timber, and one in the passes of the central mountains—the military forces of Galbadia were in full retreat. A few tattered units from the southern frontier were streaming back toward Deling, falling back in chaos. Not even a semblance of an orderly retreat had been evidenced by the military. Just as many—if not more—units were simply abandoning their arms and returning to their homes; surrendering; or even asking to join the CISS forces, as were returning for one final stand at Deling. The forces pushing for a breakthrough into timber had been utterly defeated and chased seventy miles back into Galbadian territory before the IRT army's counter-offensive had stopped. The Independent Republic of Timber had then issued a statement that it would press no farther into Galbadian territory if not provoked. A few days ago, when Matchgar had still held out some hope of forming a final defensive line around Deling, he had taken the Timberites at their word and recalled all Galbadian forces from the eastern frontier to Deling. Two days prior, a contingent of Estharian marines had landed in the port city of North Ricorn unopposed. At that time, Matchgar's aides had still bothered to lie to him, concealing the fact that the Estharians were greeted as liberating heroes in the Galbadian city. Since that time, no one had delivered any further reports to the president of Galbadia. A pile of wrappers and rubbish lay in one corner of the office—the remains of the last of the food Matchgar had been using to sustain himself. The president looked terrible. He had not slept in several days, nor had he left the office for fear of attempts on his life. Coarse hair darkened his face where he had neglected to shave and his reddened eyes were ringed by blotchy purple circles. However, although the man looked bleary-eyed, his mind continued to work in perfect order. Nervously, he placed a hand upon his firearm—the only object resting upon the empty desk. Any other man in this situation might think of turning this on himself. Not Matchgar. Not for an instant did the man think of anything but his own personal survival. He had long since given up on the idea that the few members of the armed forces and secret police still under his control could hold off the Estharians and Caraway's troops long enough for him to broker any kind of deal for himself. In fact, I doubt any one of them would so much as hold up a hand to protest them walking right through my front door. There was no one Matchgar could trust. He held no doubt that even his most loyal lieutenants would gladly hand him over to his enemies now that the tides had turned against him. Which brings me back to square one. The only one who could get Delphi Matchgar out of his current predicament was Delphi Matchgar. He would get no assistance from the outside, he would have to help himself. Fortunately, that's one of the things I do best. He checked his watch again. That's it. Either the garage watchman would have received his orders by now, or he would not have. If he hadn't, he would have to die. Standing, Matchgar picked up the pistol with the slightest white-lipped smile. Countries and sorceresses rise and fall. I always survive.  
  
The streets of Deling lay unnaturally quiet under the huge crescent moon. Like the giant silver sickle of that far away satellite, the night air hung close and oppressive over the city. Nothing moved except for a few bits of discarded paper, tumbling in a hot midsummer night zephyr. Deling station was silent. A single engine sat silently under the harsh glare of the lights, its boiler cold and empty. The escalators still moved. The sodium streetlights still glowed. The lights from a few neon signs still flickered down the dark alleys. Air conditioners hummed and dripped down stained brick walls. Despite the armies of impending change approaching the city, the city continued to live on in a quiescent state. Near the outskirts of the Galbadian capital, the night air crackled with the electricity flowing through the high-tension wires over a wide boulevard. The hum of generators silenced the cries of night creatures near the dark power plant hunched close to the strips of asphalt. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance, slowly resolving itself into an oblong circle that danced in and out of view as it traced out rises and falls in the course of the road. The single headlight disappeared for a few moments. The generators and high-tension lines hummed on. Abruptly, the monotone of the night was broken by screaming as the oval of light appeared out of a low spot over which the boulevard passed. White and red lights streaked by, accompanied by a howl that rapidly shifted in pitch due to the Doppler effect on the passing motorcycle engine. The glare of passing streetlights washed over the black helmet of the motorcyclist without penetrating the heavily tinted visor. Hot night air whistled through the vents in the man's unmarked leather jacket. The motorcycle and man streaked under traffic lights that flashed red over and over again. Ahead, the taller buildings of downtown Deling bit chunks from the sliver of moon. The polished midnight skin of the motorcycle reflected only a few lighted windows. Above a commercial park, adjacent to a silent dry fountain, a clock face glimmered in a single spotlight. The man took note. The rushing of air over the motorcycle silenced the creak of his leather glove as it twisted the throttle open. From down a darkened alley, the motorcycle was a burst of howling engine and light as it flashed past, only its rear wheel touching the ground.  
  
Delphi whirled, pointing the pistol down the hallway. The hardwood walls stood silently in the dimness. No one was there. Lowering the weapon, he fought the urge to mutter to himself as he hurried down toward the staircase that lead to the first floor. He trod carefully upon the plush carpeting of the stairs, careful to make as little sound as possible, but hurrying nonetheless. As he reached the last step, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. President Matchgar froze in place, but only for an instant. The single ornamental light burning in the ground floor hallway did nothing to illuminate the corridor. The President of Galbadia dropped to his haunches behind the wall that bordered one side of the stairs. His heart raced and he imagined he could feel the blood pulsating hotly through each and every artery. Leading with his firearm, he peered out from his slight cover. None of the shadows moved. The garage was only a few feet down the hall to the right. He slowly straightened, and it was then that he recognized the shape of one of the shadows. There could be no doubt, the hammer, the trigger, the tiniest glimmer from the steel of the weapon. It was a gunblade, there, on the edge of those shadows. Any other man would have frozen with fright or indecision, but not Delphi. His pistol was up and firing right at the shadows that hid the man's head. Once, twice, the roar of the gun was deafening in the enclosed space. Delphi had already somersaulted to the corner of the hall, making use of what scant cover was available. The shadows thrown from the illumination of the protect spell sparking against the rounds revealed two figures. The man with the gunblade stood impassively with his weapon grounded against the floor. He stared straight at Delphi without so much as blinking even as another bullet struck the magical shield protecting him. A smaller figure to the left of the armed man raised a hand. Delphi could make out the shadow of a shock of shoulder- length hair surrounding two orbs that glowed with an unearthly amber light. He was backpedaling in an ingrained zigzag pattern even as he fired two more shots without really expecting them to have much effect. The hallway exploded, or at least that was how it seemed to Delphi Matchgar. He curled into a ball against the brilliant green magic as the world unraveled around him. Miraculously, he felt himself strike the ground and roll—still alive. Gaining his feet, he took a split second to look around. He was outside the presidential residence. Behind him, flames licked at the edges of a large hole blasted out of the side of the mansion, smoldering debris lay all around, and a few feet away, the gate to the presidential compound lay open. He was running towards it even as a tremendous explosion shattered all the windows on the ground floor of the mansion behind him. It was a trap, of course. Delphi's mind was racing, but it could offer him no solutions. He surely would be gunned down before he reached the gate. The President of Deling survived running through the gate. After the last explosion, silence returned to the night, broken only by the pounding of his footsteps on the pavement in front of the mansion, the clatter of his handgun's discarded empty clip, and the metallic sound of the fresh ammunition being loaded.  
  
Abruptly, the buildings ended. Two abandoned cars and a silent bus streaked by the motorcyclist as he broke out into Deling's monument mall. A few of the spotlights had burned out, but the gateway still shone brilliantly against the night sky. The calm glow of the gauges on the motorcycle's dashboard belied the howling wind, the roaring engine, and the violence of purpose in the rider's mind. The shoulder strap on the snub-nosed machine gun flapped wildly in the slipstream as the rider unholstered the weapon.  
  
Matchgar was two thirds of the way to the gateway when he spotted the approaching motorcyclist. He was certain this was no impossible coincidence. Stopping dead in the middle of the road, he raised his firearm, steadying his aim with one hand.  
Beside the blinding headlight, a star twinkled malignantly. Delphi felt chips of concrete slice across his face as he dove aside. Machine gun bullets stitching up the road where he had just stood. A hail of buzzing lead fell all around him as he dropped onto his back, returning fire with his pistol while the motorcycle screamed past. Somehow, none of the shots from the black bike's rider managed to strike him. He was up and running for the gateway instantly, shoving a third fresh clip into his weapon. If he could reach the sewers...  
  
The submachine gun was lost to the pavement streaking past, clattering, sparking, and spinning into a gutter where it lay smoking slightly. The rider braced himself against the motorcycle as he squeezed down hard on the brakes. The machine tilted up on its front wheel, tires screeching in protest as they slid on dry asphalt. When the machine had slowed, the motorcycle's rear wheel contacted the ground already spinning. Rubber smoke hugged the asphalt close to the curved black streak left by the motorcycle as it pivoted and then stopped, motor idling uneasily. The fleeing man was caught squarely in its single headlight.  
  
With a clattering roar, the massive gate fell, blocking entry to the gateway. Delphi could see his own shadow painted on the bars in sharp relief by the motorcycle's glaring headlamp. Old instincts took over, and he turned, raising his pistol again. The motorcycle's engine revved once, twice, its screeching cry piercing the night. Delphi fired at the sound of squealing rubber. The motorcycle's headlamp shattered as a round struck it. The windscreen broke apart under the impact of a second shot. Suddenly, the bike was up on its rear wheel again. Two more shots struck sparks from the engine, looming suddenly large in Delphi's view. At the last second, he realized—too late, the biker's intentions—and tried to dive aside. The machine struck him like a giant's burning metal gauntlet. At first, there was little pain, just confusion, shock, and burning heat on his face.  
  
The rider stood from where he had fallen. The dark visor of his helmet giving him an otherworldly appearance, the man snapped open the flap on a hip holster, drawing a matte-black semiautomatic pistol. The pavement was littered with bits of glass and plastic. A slick wet smear marked where the vehicle had struck and dragged Delphi Matchgar into the gateway. Walking toward the mangled heap where the motorcycle had crashed against the gateway, the man pulled back the slide on the weapon, chambering a round.  
  
Delphi Matchgar was having a hard time comprehending what was happening. Gasoline from the motorcycle's ruptured fuel tank covered him, and burned in his eyes. His back and legs screamed with pain, shredded by the pavement and now soaked with fuel. He could smell his own flesh beginning to cook where one mangled arm was tangled with the motorcycle's exhaust manifold. Fire streaked through his chest, where numerous ribs were broken, and fluid in his lungs burbled with each breath. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the bitter sting of gasoline in his mouth. He could move only a single arm, and he could not draw a deep enough breath to even whimper. For an instant, through his burning eyes, he saw the bug-like helmeted head of the motorcyclist. Something, some instinct deep within him made him raise his one good arm in a gesture for mercy. Then, the rider removed his helmet. Delphi Matchgar lowered his hand and his head at the sight of his assailant.  
  
The night had fallen silent again, except for the ticking of the wrecked motorcycle engine, the quiet sizzle of flesh against red-hot metal, and the footfalls of the motorcycle rider. The stillness shattered at the sound of one final gunshot.  
  
General Richard Caraway did not look back at the motorcycle, body, or pistol—dropped with only one round expended—as he walked away from the Deling Gateway. He seemed not to notice the fiery explosion behind him as the gasoline leaking from the motorcycle finally ignited.  
  
Eventually, the wail of sirens would be heard through the empty streets of Deling. Eventually, the flames and plumes of dirty black smoke rising from the presidential mansion and the pile of melting metal, plastic, rubber, and flesh in front of the Deling Gateway would be extinguished. By that time, the three portals opened through space would have faded, and the three people who had come to dispense final justice would be long since gone.  
  
...  
  
The water sparkled with reflected sunbeams. The deep azure blue of the endless sea stretched to meet the robin's egg sky that faded to white near that far off edge of the world. Row after row of long undulating swells marched in from that horizon, each shining with the captured sun as they rolled toward the white crescent of sand. Only a sliver of the beach could be seen, peering out from between the lush greens of the island's treetop vegetation. The slightest zephyr stirred the riot of fronds and leaves that framed the beach and brushed the pearling surf into glassy perfection just before it broke into a chaos of snow-white foam.  
A few arctic pink rose petals kissed the smooth marble of the balcony's thick railing before fluttering gently down and away on the warm sedate morning breeze. The hushed roar of the distant surf nearly masked the slipping sound of the long white drapes against one another. The diaphanous fabric billowed slowly outward, allowing an errant shaft of sunlight to stretch out across the thick blue carpet.  
  
"What will we do now?" An almost-whisper caressed the plump pillow amid a twist of white sheets, dusted peach skin, and chocolate locks. Russet eyes, only half-open, twitched at a spark of light from the far away sea. His heart ached for the instant. Between Question and Answer would have been the name of the painting. Such a great injustice was present, that his tongue threatened to break free and despoil the moment of sea and sun, sky, fabric, and woman, for it was destined to be lost before it could be recorded, and such a travesty could hardly be allowed to pass in silence. But it was not the man's nature to speak—even in such circumstance, so he withheld his council and for a few moments, perfection remained untouched. At last, she turned to face him, but her motion did not break the spell; the induplicalble beauty only increased, even as she spoke again. "What will we do?" Looking down at her from up on one elbow, he spoke the first words that came to mind. "It doesn't matter." It doesn't matter that things will never be so flawless again. It doesn't matter that I we cannot stay this way forever, it doesn't matter because I have felt it—finally achieved this perfection. His smile said as much. It did matter. But she was not about to contradict the wish—for that is what his words were—a prayer of hope for the hopeless; a plea for wakefulness from a nightmare of tangled lives, time, and sorrow. He would stave off the inevitable by refusing it acknowledgement. His finger replaced one straying strand as he traced the outline of her face. "Forget the future, Rinoa. It is all we can do." She blinked once, almost as slow and measured as she spoke. "Alright." The nod was an imperceptible tilting of her chin. "I'll try." Only the sound of the surf stood between them and total silence. Suddenly, her neck arched and she dove for his bare belly. "I'll try very, very, hard...!" Her voice and eyes were alight with playfulness as her nose burrowed into his tummy, her lips and words tickling his skin. "Aack!" The gravity of the young man vanished under such an irresistible onslaught. Seriousness was a lost cause as he tried to cover his vulnerable midsection.  
  
Only a fat scarlet cardinal was present on the sunny balcony to hear the playful wrestling of young lovers. Fluffing his feathers, the orange-beaked little bird cocked one black eye at the couple as they tussled in a whirlwind of sheets and laughter. After a few moments, the avian turned a few shades brighter red and fluttered discreetly away.  
  
Two pairs of prints dimpled the shore of the sandbar. Wavelets of crystal- clear water lapped around the marks, slowly wiping away the trail left by the couple. The horizon was enormous. Stretching in every direction, the flat cloudless sky seemed to cap the oceanscape like a giant blue flagstone. Near the edges of the world, the sky and water seemed the same shade of deep azure. Closer, the warm, shallow sea was a sparkling aquamarine comment with white apostrophes of sand bars and bleached coral. Only the rainbow peak of one listing sail broke the leveled ocean and sands. Luffing gently in the early afternoon breeze, it cast a spray of shadowy colors over the couple beneath—hiding from the sun in the triangle of shade. Masks, fins, and snorkels lay strewn on the soft sand around the pair, baking gently in the tropical heat. He stared up into the endless cobalt sky as the warm air dried his skin. Crystals of ocean salt appeared in his hair only to be shaken free by the play of a zephyr of warm air. Her skin was hot against his where they touched, laying side by side. Sand rustled as he turned to look. He found her already gazing at him, the slightest of shy smiles brushed across her lips. Neither spoke. A far-away gull cried to itself. The waves shushed the creaking of the boom on the tiny sailboat.  
  
So passed those days amid the tiny island chain. The tropical archipelago had been all but passed over by the recent events in the world, making it one of the few places a handsome—but otherwise unremarkable—newlywed couple could go to forget all about sorceresses, revolution, time compression and, even, perhaps, Fate for a little while.  
  
The point was a huge limb of rock from the dormant volcano that had formed the island. Ages ago, it had been part of a smallish flow of lava from a minor eruption. Since that time, a million years of sea and weather had shaped it into a narrow promontory that jutted into the ocean a few hundred yards past two wings of white sand beach. Now it made the perfect resting place for a pair of visitors—tanned nearly as deeply as the locals—to bid farewell to the setting sun. She did not sigh deeply enough for him to notice. Squall's arms around her shoulders, Rinoa leaned back into him, watching the sun vanish behind a distant deck of plum-colored clouds. Nothing needed to be said. They both sensed it; even during their happiest, or at their most peaceful, the slightest touch of melancholy—the knowledge that reality would not wait forever—had tinged their lives. Now it was nearly over. When the sun reappeared over the limb of the world, they would be gone from this place where time seemed to stand still. They would think and speak again of Galbadia, Timber, the Confederacy, Gardens, and Esthar. There would be strife. Death, fear, and doubt would return to their lives. But, still, amidst it all—as there always had been—there would be his love and the strength it brought. And, knowing that, I can go on. I can leave this place without regret—as long as he is by my side. By the tiniest fraction, the sadness that had crept into her heart receded and she inclined her head, sneaking a glance at his scarred countenance. He looked down, returning her gaze, his quizzical expression the same as it had been the night they met. Rinoa closed her eyes and smiled, feeling his embrace tighten in an affectionate squeeze. He did not need to ask what she was thinking, he knew her thoughts as well as his own. She turned a little, he turned a little, and their lips brushed for a moment in the dusk. Then she turned back toward the sea, looking up at the spray of waxing stars in the moonless sky. His gaze followed hers, and they sat, watching the sky until the stars became too numerous to count and the hour too late to mention.  
  
To be Continued at sponger42@yahoo.com for Purgatio's Website Containing Recent  
Updates) 


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